Sonn of Mann
by Adelled
Summary: Set after the series finale. As Marshall anticipates his wedding to Abigail and waits for his title to change from Chief Inspector-designee to Chief, he gets a visit from an old friend and meets a new one who will change his world.
1. Missing in Action

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann - Chapter 1 – Missing in Action

 _MARY POV_

Monday morning

I scan my card at the security slot of the WITSEC door with an actual bounce to my step. My God, is this what it feels like to have a full night's sleep? Please God, let Norah sleep through the night again. Soon! For once I don't feel as if I've been dragged through a knot hole.

My eyes go to my partner's desk. Marshall isn't there and his computer isn't on. WTF. Marshall's never late. Let me try his middle desk drawer. Maybe he left a note. Actually, I'm hoping to find one of his homemade chocolate truffles. Damn. Locked. _Doofus can break into my whiskey stash but doesn't trust me not to trash his desk? Smart man. Maybe he's out getting breakfast for us._ What a wonderful idea.

What's Stan looking at? Oh, I 'm smiling at the thought of breakfast. _What's a matter Stan? I smile._ _I can smile._ Not that I've done it much lately. Not a lot to smile about here. Getting a new chief. Sheesh. Chief Marshall? The Mann Chaffee wedding or nuptials as Marshall calls them, are soon. Marshall hasn't said anything to me but we don't talk anymore. He knows I despise frou frou wedding stuff. I get enough frou frou talk from Delia on witness visits. Time for coffee. These days I'm stuck with the sludge the office pot produces.

I think I'll rattle Stanley's cage and find out where my so-called-used-to be-but isn't-anymore partner is. I take a sip and wander into Stan's office. That's what happens when you leave the door open Stan. I'd better check out that visitor chair. As the seat compresses it makes a farting noise. Stan looks up but returns his attention to the forms on his desk. Hmph. He's ignoring me. That requisition he's working on must be damn important. He signs his name with a flourish and finally looks at me. Stan's desk always seems to be a big slush pile. Except when Allison Pearson is due for a visit. His mouth is pursed as if he just tasted something bad. Wonder why I see that expression so often?

"Where's Marshall?" Marshall may not be speaking to me, but I'm not about to pass up a chance to rat him out to Stan so I can twit him about shirking work.

Stan looks at me sternly. Well as stern as Stan can. "He's taking a few days vacation." He nods, squinting slightly and looks me in the eye. He must be serious. I take another sip, covering my own expression of disdain. "It's about time," Stan informs me. "Things have been quiet. There aren't any transfers or testimony scheduled. He's got a lot going on these days. He deserves some time away." He doesn't say it, but I hear it anyway. _Away from you._

"Message received, Chief. When will he be back?" Stan pretends to be scrutinizing a page of figures. "He said he'd let me know next week." That was different. Marshall planned his time off like he planned his witness transfers – no detail too small, nothing left to chance.

I head for my desk and think about work. Who am I kidding? I'm still thinking about Marshall. He started acting oddly, odd even for Marshall, last Thursday. Someone had derailed his trivia train. Did Abigail cut Chatty Cathy's cord?

For the last few months we've only talked at work about work. I've made a concerted effort to shield him from my concerns about Brandi, Jinx and even Norah. I haven't _liaised_ with any cowboys. I'm not about to tell him about my sexual dry spell. He and his lady love are probably getting it on every night. What is this world coming to when a geek sees more action than a MILF like me? Things must be getting serious between them because Marshall doesn't talk to me about Abigail. I wasn't surprised when they moved in together. I wonder if Abigail knows that I picked the place?

It's time Marshall got off the Shannon merry go round. Jinx has been the least of my concerns lately. She really seems to have gotten her act together, but I can't help waiting for the other shoe to drop. She enjoys teaching the little bun topped tulle bottomed darlings, and I've seen them mob her like a rock star. Brandi's gone, but this time I refuse to track her down. Norah is healthy and seems happy in Joanna's care. I owe that woman big time. But not enough to marry her son, Norah's father.

 _Marshall probably booked some romantic ranch B &B to calm the pre-wedding jitters._ Why does the thought of the two of them spending all day riding the range and all night riding each other remind me of morning sickness? I hold my marshal's mug close to my nose, enjoying the smell. Thank god coffee no longer makes me sick. Get it in gear Shannon. Thinking about Marshall won't get those reports written. It's just another day for this Albuquerque WITSEC Inspector.

A/N: And so it begins. This is Marshall's story and most chapters will be from his POV. Anyone still out there reading IPS?


	2. Mann to Mann

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann - Chapter 2 – Mann to Mann

 _MARSHALL POV_

Previous Thursday WITSEC office

My upcoming wedding has made life so hectic, being at work is actually restful. It's nice to conduct my routine threat assessments without interruption. Mary and Delia are out on witness visits. Pausing the facial recognition search I grab my cell phone before it vibrates itself off the desk. _Whose number is that?_ Doesn't matter. Inspectors always answer. "This is Marshall."

"Marshall? Marshall Mann?" a woman's reedy voice asks.

"Yes ma'am. How can I help you?" I'm not accustomed to receiving calls from women. Must be something to do with a witness. Some sort of mess to untangle, problem to solve, helping people make the most of the fresh start in witness protection. I love my job but right now my mind is occupied by the wedding and my pending promotion.

There's a pause while the caller clears her throat. "Ma'am? Really Marshal? It's been a few years but I don't think I qualify as a ma'am yet."

I'm smacked with memories of my former critical thinking instructor. My work partner may be sexually liberated, but this woman was insatiable. "Dana?" I stutter. "Uh, Dana Collins?" I hope she is married with tons of kids and not calling to rekindle the flames of our passion. "You're right; it has been a few years. How...how are you?"

The caller's high pitched chuckle sounds more anxious than humorous. "Yes, it's still Collins. I know I haven't kept in touch. For a literature minor I'm not very good at writing." Dana pauses, trying to smother a cough. "Marshall. I'm in town for a few days and I'd like to see you."

"Sure, I guess. What is this about?" _Why oh why did my mother train me to always be polite? Why didn't I just say no, I'm busy. I'm getting married._

"About? Actually, Marshall, it's about time."

"Excuse me?" What does she mean by that?

"I just mean it's about time we got together for a talk, a visit. You know old friends and all that."

I'm not sure what's going on but I know there has to be more to this call than just reminiscences. I'm with Abigail now, but she has male friends. I'm sure she wouldn't be surprised that I have female friends.

While I was considering what to say, Dana had continued talking. "I'm not going to be here long. Just a few days. Any chance we could get together tonight? Would that work?"

"Ah, that could work. What time?" Abigail and I have plans for Friday night, but nothing tonight. This morning she said might not be home till late.

"The earlier the better. I'm not much of a night owl these days. Could you make it before six?"

"Maybe." I shuffle one handed through the documents on my desk checking for anything urgent. I should have time – barring a witness meltdown. My relationship with Dana was unprecedented. We were intimate, but not close. We did share some interests and some crazy fun times. I'll never forget when Mary caught us making out in the UNM parking lot. Wonder if Dana is calling for a repeat? Nope, absolutely not. I have a fiancée. A live in wife-to-be. I could never cheat on Abigail.

"We could meet at the Two Fools Tavern," I suggest. Neutral territory. Lots of people. I could keep a respectable distance from her without being impolite.

I hear another cough. Not the conversational kind, a wet teeth rattling cough. "I'm not much of a drinker. To be honest, I don't go out much. I'm staying at the Hotel Andaluz. Could you come here?"

I see wildly waving red flags. Danger Will Robinson. The last thing I wanted was to be alone with Ms. Nymphomaniac.

"Umm, I don't know . . . . "

Dana tittered nervously, probably remembering some of our wild couplings. "Oh Marshall, don't worry. Not that you weren't a very good lover, but that's not why I'm here." Her voice dropped, and her tone turned serious, "Just come. Please. There's someone I want you to meet."

Good. We won't be alone. "All right." Going to her hotel doesn't seem a lot to ask.

I clear my desk – and lock it. I can't trust Mary not to prank my desk. God knows what she would do with the wedding invitations if she found them. I had Funyuns with lunch so I hit the breath freshener as I leave the office for the night.

I'm at the Andaluz long before 6. It's in an old section of downtown Albuquerque. The area had gone from high brow to slum and back again as the city expanded and downtown real estate became valuable. Now the Andaluz was what Mary would call hoity-toity.

Am I really ready to do this? I knock on her door. It's a suite. The 1939 luxury hotel had modern amenities, but retained its charm. Charm that came with a price tag. Dana must be a tenured professor by now. Professors must make more than I realize. Unless she's supplementing her income with something illegal or immoral. Sheesh. Been hanging around Mary with her persistent negative view of humanity too long.

While waiting for the door to be answered, I check for exits. My habit of planning alternative routes follows me off the job. Dana opens the door with a tremulous smile and a squeaky "Come in."

She is thinner than I remember and it seems to take effort for her to stand. Her hair is tied back, and despite the warmth of the hotel, she is wearing a cardigan sweater. She leads me into a living room area. I can see a kitchenette off to the side. Another two rooms open off the living room.

"Would you like something to drink? Have you had dinner? I have some snacks. . . ." she trailed off.

I want to know the reason for this visit, but I don't mind a brief delay. Dana is nervous and the additional time might help her relax. "Just water. Water would be good. Thank you."

"Good. Great," she quickly responds. "I've got that." I hear the patter of her soft soled flats on the kitchenette floor.

Wow. I don't think I've ever seen the Sandia Mountains from this elevation. No wonder the seating faces the picture window. I never get tired of the desert and its mountains. Dana interrupts my study of the scenery with a cold bottle of water. She sits in a wing back chair. I take the couch facing the window kitty-corner from her.

It's my turn to get this conversation started. "This room has a spectacular view of the Sandia Mountains." I can name the peaks and canyons. I have ridden many of the trails. But something tells me, Dana wouldn't be interested.

I get a good look at my hostess and notice a small video screen on the table next to her. I point to the monitor. "Technology has really come a long way." I lean closer in order to see what is playing."Is that a nanny cam?"

"Yes," Dana acknowledges with a bittersweet smile. "But without the nanny."

"But," I hesitate, focusing on the screen. I don't want to call her a liar. "The resolution on this is really good. I ..uh.. I see a woman sitting next to a crib?"

Dana ducks her head revealing a starburst of grey hair and scalp. She takes a deep breath. "She's not a nanny. She's a nurse." She pauses, working up the courage to confess. "She's my hospice nurse. The doctors wouldn't allow me to make the trip without her. She doesn't usually baby sit, but she is helping with my son."

Oh my God, is that what this is all about? She's come to say goodbye?

I ignore the fact that Dana has a child. "Hospice? Certainly not you. You look" I stop, realizing she looks far from great. Instead I end with "good."

Dana titters and blushes. She looks years younger, but only for a minute. "Always the gentleman. You are very kind. Yes," she admits, "me." She looks me straight in the eye, and I can see the fine lines around her eyes and the worry lines on her forehead. "I was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer 6 months ago. I had to make this trip now."

Trying to avoid the medical bombshell she's just unleashed and the presence of her child in the adjoining room, I pick a less serious topic. "Did you have far to travel?"

"Not too far. I've been living in Phoenix. My Dad passed two years ago and my mother died last year." I start to offer my sympathy for her loss, but leave the words unspoken. Her greatest loss is ahead. Dana clasps her hands together to stop them from trembling. "When I get back I'll be moving into Serenity Hospice. I won't be there long," she shook her head wistfully.

Feeling awkward, I offer, "If there's anything I can do. . . ."

Dana perks up. This is it. What did I get myself into? A genuine smile graces her thin face and I wonder how she can smile with her own death looming. She takes a deep breath. "That's why I came to Albuquerque. There **is** something you can do."

Instead of telling me, Dana heads for the other room. I watch her on the baby monitor. I hear her talking to the nurse but can't make out the words. Dana goes to the portacrib and rouses the napping child. She must be too weak to pick him up because the nurse lifts him and carries him into the living room.

Dana stops in front of me as the nurse puts the toddler down. He stands on his own, blinking sleepily. He grabs Dana's leg, hiding. His thumb goes to his mouth. The situation calls for a little self soothing. I wish I could so something as comforting for Dana.

I have to smile at the single blue eye that peeks from behind Dana's leg. He's wearing denim overalls and a white short sleeved shirt and socks. He's just a little taller than Dana's knee. He must be shy around strangers. My study of the boy is interrupted when Dana clears her throat.

"Marshall," Dana's voice wavers. "I'd like you to meet your son, Martin."

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A/N: Anyone see that coming?


	3. Son of a Gun

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 3 - Son of a Gun

 _Marshall POV_

 _"_ _Marshall," Dana's voice wavers. "I'd like you to meet your son, Martin."_

"Excuse me?" I thought she said Martin was my son. She's tired, confused. She must mean her son. The nurse returns to the bedroom. It's just the three of us. Dana, me and the little boy.

"Martin, this nice man is your father. Remember Mr. Gary?" The toddler nods. "His son is Toby, and Toby's father is Gary. Just like Gary is Toby's father, Mr. Marshall is your father."

She did say my son? **My** son? I sit back and my head seems too heavy for my neck. For several long minutes all I can do is look at the ceiling and breathe. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the little boy peering around his mother's legs to get a better look at the strange man who is passing out in front of him. He doesn't know what to think. I can relate.

I lean forward, elbows on knees, so I appear smaller, less threatening. "Hi. My name is Marshall. What's yours?"

The toddler looks at me then retreats behind his mother. Dana crouches down to talk to him, face to face. "Remember I told you about the nice man we would be meeting today?" It's shocking to see the vibrant vixen I knew as a mom.

The little boy nods, his eyes shift between his mother and me.

"This," she points to me, "is him." She tries to reassure him with a smile. He's still wary. Smart boy.

The boy looks at me then turns to his mom. "Really?" he asks hopefully. It sounds like 'weawy.'

Dana nods. "Uh huh. I hope you two will be friends."

"Carolyn," she calls for the nurse. "Please take Martin to see the fish." The nurse emerges from the bedroom with a small pair of cowboy boots. I'm entranced by those tiny cowboy boots. My son would choose cowboy boots. She turns to me. "They've got an aquarium off the lobby. Martin didn't get a chance to see it last night."

Crouching down to Martin she asks, "Do you remember seeing the fishies last night?" The boy nods. "Go with Carolyn and you'll get to look at them all you want." She tousles his dark hair and he smiles. "I bet there's a snack downstairs just for you." Carolyn helps him with his boots. She seems glad to deal with someone at the beginning of life. I hear the door close leaving me alone with the mother of my child? Several shell shocked moments pass as I try to wrap my brain around what just happened. I slow my breathing trying for normal in a world turned upside down.

"When?" I croak, "When did you find out you were pregnant?" My brain is working to retrieve dates, but my voice is barely functioning.

"Almost four months after we had been," she stops, abandoning the search for an acceptable euphemism. "I didn't believe it. I was using birth control. I just couldn't be pregnant. When I knew I was, I wasn't sure you were the father. It wasn't until Martin was born. Once I saw those blue eyes, I knew he was yours."

If she knew... "Why didn't you tell me?" I can barely accept that I have a son, but already I mourn missing his baby days.

Dana ducked her head. She was never shy so she must be tired. "We didn't exactly part on good terms, Marshall. In my own way, I loved you. When you dumped me..."

"I didn't dump you!" I protest.

She stares at me, peeved. "No, you just never called and didn't return my calls." I had to admit, it was true. Dana frightened me. "I couldn't," I admitted. "Your intensity was overwhelming." _Intense, yeah, that's better than sex crazed_. "I wasn't ready. When you stopped calling I figured you were no longer interested."

She stands, walks away then turns. "Be honest Marshall. Despite our mutual interests, you couldn't see spending the rest of your life with me." Returning to stand in front of me, she continues. "I understood. Even then, I knew there wasn't an us." She looks away, peering into the past. "I didn't realize I wanted you until I couldn't have you. And if I couldn't have you, I could have this piece of you. You are a good man." She looks up, her smile warm. "Martin is all you Marshall. I am thrilled that he is, was, all mine."

"Why tell me now?" Thoughts of Abigail, the wedding, my promotion, my parents, Abigail's parents jostle for my attention. But I firmly push them back. My son is my priority. He's not in the room but his image is imprinted on my mind. This must have been how Mary felt the first time she held Norah. Everything else seems unimportant. More than anything I want to know him.

Dana stops pacing and sits down next to me. "Martin deserves to know he has a father. Every child should know their father." Mary. Not knowing her father scarred her, damaged her in ways she's still discovering.

"You won't be able to take care of him much longer." I realized. It's a hurtful but honest thing to say. I look into her face and am startled to see acceptance and peace instead of sadness and bitter finality.

"That's why I came now. I've arranged for Martin to be adopted." _Adopted? He's my son. He has a father. He doesn't need to be adopted._ "It's a couple I know and they are willing to take him."

 _Willing? Willing? What kind of commitment is that? Willing isn't good enough. Raising the sweet boy I just met should be a joy, a gift, a treasure._

I hadn't given it any thought, but the words came spilling out. "What if I want to be involved? What if I want to be there for him? I am his dad. What if I want to **be** his dad?"

Dana was lost in her own thoughts and didn't seem to hear me. "When Martin was born they removed a tumor the size of a football from my uterus." She smiled fondly, remembering. She giggled. "You should have seen me. I was huge! Martin might have been bigger if he had more room."

"I was kind of the runt of the litter myself. You're right though. I should have seen you." Oh God Dana. If I had known I would have been there for you every step of the way.

Dana protested, "I told you. I didn't know he was yours. And even if I had known before he was born I wouldn't have told you."

"Why the hell not?"

She ducked her head. "I was too embarrassed. An educated woman getting pregnant in this day and age? How stupid was I? I didn't know antibiotics negate the efficacy of birth control. How could I let this happen?"

Dana regained her equanimity and raised her head. "I quit UNM before I started to show and went to live with my parents. They were getting on in years and could use my help. And" she confessed, "I needed theirs."

The wistful smile returned. "They were thrilled to have a grandson," she assured me. "No matter how he came to be, he was their future. Their legacy. And now he is mine."

"Dana, Dana. I am so sorry. This is ..."

"Too much to take in?" she smiled wanly. "I understand." She did seem to understand.

I put myself in Dana's shoes. She had given up her career. She gave birth and loved her son only to lose both parents and be diagnosed with a terminal disease. "What do you need? What do you expect from me?" I clarified.

"Honestly? I just wanted you to know you have a son. I hope you will consider adding your name to his birth certificate. After a DNA test, of course." She expects me to require a test? I hadn't thought that far ahead. My attention wanders. Where can I get a DNA test done? She stops talking waiting till I'm back. "With your name on the birth certificate, when he's older, he would know."

"There's no father on his birth certificate?"

Dana shook her head sadly.

"Dana, I can't..."

"It's okay Marshall. If you don't want to do it, it's okay."

"No, it's not that. I just need time. I need to ..."

"Digest what you've just learned?" Dana asked. "I know you. You are careful, methodical. I understand that you need time to come to grips with this. But I don't have much time, Marshall. I'm leaving on Sunday." She isn't pleading, just stating the facts.

That doesn't give me much time to figure this out. But I already know I want to see Martin again. "I'll call you tomorrow."

Shaken to my core, I leave a dying woman without an answer.

Driving relaxes me. Especially driving in the desert. Minimal traffic. Beautiful scenery. Helps me think through complicated issues, and this is as complicated as it gets. The part of my brain that deals with traffic and stop lights kept me from crashing. I found myself in the Cibola National Forest. It's peaceful. I pull into an empty campground and put my head on the steering wheel.

Abigail. How will she take the news? She's been irritable. Every snag in the wedding plans adds to her frustration. Must be pre-wedding jitters. Right? Abigail is dealing with the caterer, the hall, the bridesmaids dresses, and the flowers. It's a lot. I've tried to help, relieve her of some of the tasks. Her mother wanted to help and so did mine, but Abby insisted on doing it all. How will she feel having one more Martin sized thing added to her plate?

Do all brides get like this? There must be some basis for the Bridezilla moniker.

But it's not just the wedding hitches that tick her off. I overheard her on the phone berating someone at ABQPD. This isn't the cheery detective who remembers coworkers names and buys them coffee. She's even barked at me once or twice. Nothing we couldn't resolve. Either she apologized or I pretended to forget. I used to depend on her sweet disposition. Now any little deviation from her cast-in-concrete agenda sends her into a tirade.

I remember when she met Mom and Dad. She was sweet as pie, charming, warm. Mom is an enthusiastic hugger. I knew she had doubts when she patted Abigail's arm instead. Dad behaved as if he was dealing with a subordinate instead of a future daughter in law. I thought he might whip out the FAIL card. Nothing new there. It doesn't matter what they think. This is my life. Mine and Abigail's. Mom and Dad will come around.

After staring at the western sky I know what I have to do. Where's my phone? "Abby? Meet me at home, as soon as you can. It's urgent."

"Sure, Sugarbritches." There are a few seconds of silence. She isn't used to me giving her orders. "I'll see you in 30."

Was she upset? I never order her to do something. Never required immediate compliance. And yet she is coming without question. Of course she is. She loves me.

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A/N: Dana Collins appeared in High Priced Spread, Season 1 Episode 6.


	4. Sonnset

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 4 – Sonnset

MARSHALL POV

Thursday late afternoon/early evening

Marshall & Abigail's

I hear Abigail's keys hit the entryway table a little harder than usual The gun safe opens and closes. _Good thing she_ _isn't armed for this discussion._ I chuckle. It's ridiculous to think my sweet Texan fiancé would shoot me. That was Mary's style.

"Glad you could get away, hon." I rise to greet her. Her expression is knit with concern.

"When you called I thought I heard passion in your voice. I figured you wanted me home so you could have your way with me." She put her hands on either side of my face. "But I can see that isn't the case."

This isn't the booty call she thought it might be. But under the worry, there's something else. Frustration? Irritation? Surely I'm imagining it. We've postponed the wedding several times and I know she's wary of another delay.

"I got lucky honeybunch. We got the perps. With the case sewed up, I could get out of there." She puts her arms around me and reaches up to smooth the furrows in my forehead. "You sounded so . . . . It sounded like there was something urgent. Is everyone in your family okay?" Ah, there's my sweet thoughtful wife-to-be. "

They're fine." I put my arms around her and tangle my fingers in her hair. We fit together perfectly."I got some good news today. It will require some changes, some adjustment, but . . . ." That's a start, and a hell of an understatement.

Abigail is immediately on guard. "Marshall, I am not putting off our wedding again! We are going to be married next month come hell or high water."

I certainly hope so.

She looks me in the eye and asks, "Is it Mary?"

I push her away so I could see her face. Is she serious? "No, why would you say that?" For the last few months every time I have to stay at work or there's a problem with the wedding arrangements, she thinks its Mary's fault. Whenever a female witness calls me, she thinks it's Mary. As far as Abigail is concerned every bump in our relationship or the wedding plans is Mary's fault. We've talked about this time and again, but she continues to blame Mary. This close to the wedding she should be sure of my love. Things happen. Not everything is Mary's doing.

"Around the precinct they said . . . ." she stopped. "The detectives said the only time they saw you distraught was when Mary was hurt or in trouble. I thought it had to be something like that for you to want to talk to me so urgently." I can't miss her rueful grimace and eye roll when she says Mary's name.

"No. It isn't Mary." Under my breath I mutter, "Not that I would know."

Evidently I didn't say that as quietly as I thought. "What do you mean you wouldn't know?" Abigail demanded. "You work together, don't you?"

I sigh wondering how to explain the barrier that had descended between Mary and I. "Since you asked me to," I looked her in the eye, trying to convey the sacrifice I made for her. "I've limited the time I spend with Mary. We work separately. Other than the job, she doesn't even talk to me."

I watch her to see if she appreciates the sacrifice I made. Instead Abigail draws back and gives me a sassy smile. "Your office must be much quieter. I bet it's running much smoother. All the rest of the marshals must appreciate that you finally muzzled the bitch.," she smirked breezily. "Everything that comes out of that woman's mouth is sarcastic, demeaning, bitter or profane." That used to be true, but not since Norah's birth. Even before Norah I've observed Mary's compassion, quick thinking, good shooting and accurate witness assessments. I miss that. I miss her.

Mary wouldn't mind being called a bitch, but I'm affronted for her. Abigail doesn't notice my grimace of distaste. "So, if no one is injured, and you seem fine," she looked me over saucily. "Where's the fire?" She puts her small soft hand around my waist and gives an encouraging squeeze. We can resolve this quickly and not delay the wedding. Again.

"C'mon, sugar britches. You look lower than a gopher hole. You know you can tell me anything."

I'm nervous. When I hesitate, trying to figure out where to start her eyes harden to stony points. "It is Mary." She states it flatly as if she had proof. As if it were fact. "That's why you moan her name in your sleep."

I say her name in my sleep? That is news to me. "Abigail," I exclaim. "You think I'm cheating on you with Mary? How in the hell that could that be construed as 'good news?' Don't you hear anything I say while I'm awake?" Exasperated, I clasp her shoulders and grit my teeth forcing her to look me in the eye. "I told you, I barely see Mary. It would be impossible to have an affair when we are seldom in the same place at the same time." I couldn't help it. My voice rose to a shout. I dial it down to a conversational volume. "I chose you, Abigail," I remind her. "I chose you, after knowing you little more than a year. I chose you over my best friend of the last ten years."

What the hell? Is Abigail that insecure? "How dare you attribute any difficulty in your life to Mary? She is not the problem here." Despite my efforts, I'm chagrined to find myself shouting again.

Abigail is shocked at my anger. She reluctantly nods. "Maybe," she half agrees. "So, what is? What on God's green earth besides that she-devil could have you this upset?" Upset? Before the shouting I was doing my calm Marshall persona.

She devil? Really? If this woman knew me she would understand how much I owe Mary. Being partnered with Mary has changed me, shaped me into the man and marshal I am today. She's not all rough edges. Her pessimism and my optimism complement each other. Mary's brashness and my follow through have made us a stellar WITSEC team. I could tell her about the real Mary Shannon, the vulnerable seven year old in a gorgeous womanly body but Mary would shoot me.

She gives me a skeptical look, her brow furrows. She's worried. I had cut Mary out of my life, and it left a painful hole. Putting aside my anger at her accusations, I decide there was no good way to say it, and I took the Mary option and blurted. "A son. I have a son. His name is Martin and he's almost four years old."

"What?" Abigail squeaked. I'd never heard her squeak before. If it wasn't so serious I would have laughed. Disbelief and anger alternate on her face. "What do you mean you have a son? How could you have a son?"

I can tell Abigail thinks this is some mistake. A misunderstanding of terms. She starts talking slowly, quietly as if talking down a jumper on a rooftop. "I know there are many things about your job that you can't tell me, but having a son . . ." She shakes her head. "I thought I knew you. We shared everything, our past romantic partners, our families, black sheep and all." As the life altering enormity of my son hit her, she shouted. "How could you have **forgotten** to tell me you have a son?" Her breasts rise and fall quickly in agitation.

I speak softly, hands still on her shoulders to calm her. "Because I just found out today. Because I just found out," I turn my wrist and check my watch," four hours ago."

She's not the only one who has talked someone off a ledge. I drop my hands, take a step back and hold both her hands in mine. "Remember when we talked about starting a family – the sooner the better?" _This really is a good thing. She has to see that._ "We've just gotten a head start." I smile, hoping she will return it.

Her skeptical look tells me she's not convinced.

"I have done everything to prove my love for you. You are my first priority." I proclaim earnestly. "I asked my best friend, the woman who has saved my life more times than I can count to release me. And she did. You know that. You need to believe it with all your heart because it's true."

I took a deep breath and pause, letting my words sink in. Abigail had to get off her Mary-go-round and confront the reality of my son. She stood still, quiet but confused. Divergent emotions are contorting her face.

"Now I need you to do something for me. Show your love. Accept my son as part of our lives, our family."

Abigail didn't seem to hear me. She was still stuck on the fact that I had a son. "How could you not know? Who's the mother? Why didn't you know? Why are you so damn sure you're the father?"

"One question at a time, love" I objected, forcing a warm calming tone. Despite her hurtful accusations, I can't think of Martin without smiling. "Let's sit." I pull her close to me on the couch.

"Let me begin at the beginning." She wouldn't look at me, but her breathing had slowed. Her arms were crossed and her head is down but she's listening. "Years ago I took a course in critical thinking. You know how I was always taking classes at UNM before we met? The TA and I hit it off, but there are rules about instructors dating students, even adult students. A few years later I ran into her and she," I pause, "Let's just say she was still interested."

"She must have been pretty damn interested if you have a child together." Abigail retorted angrily.

I nod. Describing Dana as interested was like calling the ocean wet. "We," I stopped, searching out the right word, "uh, dated, briefly. I ended it."

"Ended it? How?" Abigail demanded. She'd dropped her arms, leaning toward me.

"She called, but I didn't call back. Her calls stopped and I thought that it was over." He sat up. "It was over as far as I was concerned, but as it turns out, it was just beginning for Dana."

"Dana," Abigail mouthed her name as if tasting something sour. "You never mentioned a Dana."

"Our relationship was just a blip." I assure her. "She was looking for a good time, nothing serious." And that's what it was. Dana was wild, sexy, unrestrained, inventive and damn scary. She took chances I wasn't willing to take, and the result was Martin.

"She never told you? That's . . . that's unbelievable."

"I know. I find it hard to believe too." Later, when Abigail calms down, I can explain Dana's reasons.

"It's true. She never told me until today." I nodded turning to her.

Like a flash fire Abigail's wonder turns to anger. "Why the hell now? Why the month before our wedding? What kind of slut waits three years to inform the father of her child? Did all the other guys turn her down? Are you the only one to fall for her baby daddy line?" I pull back. Who is this Abigail? Dana didn't deserve this. Once my Southern Methodist grad has the facts, she'll understand.

"Abigail," I implore. "Dana is dying, and she wants to put my name on the boy's birth certificate."

"Dying? Are you sure she isn't lying about that too?" I didn't think it possible for Abigail to be as cynical as Mary.

"She's not lying about Martin. I met him." I stand and look down at her. "My God Abigail, the woman has stage 4 ovarian cancer. Where is your compassion?" I take a few steps back, distracting myself by running my fingers through my hair. I didn't expect this reaction.

"How do you know? Have you acquired a medical degree when I wasn't looking?" She's disdainful as if she's questioning a suspect, not talking to her beloved.

I stop pacing and face her. "I saw her today when I met Martin. You don't travel with a hospice nurse and a trunk full of medication if you're healthy," I yell. "She has cancer," I shout. "It's metastasized. She's already picked a hospice for her last days. You think she's doing that for fun?"

Abigail looks abashed. She may have her doubts, but she should know I'd never lie to her. She crosses her arms again. After a few minutes consideration she looks up at me. "All she wants is your name on his birth certificate?"

"She didn't even ask for that. Dana just said she **hoped** I would consider doing it. That way if there are any health issues or if Martin decides he wants to know, the information would be there."

Abigail sat back, and let her arms drop. "If he's really your son, I suppose you could do that." she hesitates. "Even if your name is on the birth certificate, no one would need to know. If that's what you want."

"No," I snapped. Doesn't she get it? He's mine. How could I abandon my son? "That's **not** what I want. He's my son, my **SON** ," I entreat, willing her to understand. "I want people to know he's mine. I want to take him to school. I want to teach him to ride. You know I've always wanted children, but a son? He's a gift. I've already missed so much. We've missed so much." Briefly my imagination wanders to riding - a sturdy pony for him and a spirited stallion for me.

I stretch out my hands, enveloping hers in supplication. "We can bring him into this loving relationship we've built," I urged. "We can give him a family, my family, your family, our family. Something he'd never have if it wasn't for us. Something only we can give him."

Abigail pulls her hands from mine. "Did she ask you to do that? She did, didn't she?"

"No Abigail. No." Abigail has never met Dana but she thinks she knows her. "She didn't ask me to, I **want** to. I **have** to. He's a Mann." My final argument doesn't make much sense, but it's true. I stand and start to pace again. Surely once we get to know him, she'll see this will work. "That's what we need to do. I don't want him to be raised by strangers. We're his parents." Abigail pushes herself back and looks at me as if I were the stranger.

My eyes seek hers, but she avoids them. "Honey," I rub my hands up and down her arms. "I understand that you need time to grasp this, but we don't have time. Dana leaves the day after tomorrow. We need to tell her we'll be Martin's parents before she gives him up for adoption. Think about it. I know we can be good parents," I plead. "When we have our own children, we'll have some practice, and they'll have a big brother to look out for them. It's darn near perfect."

"Perfect. Right." Abigail drawls out the last word sarcastically.

"Love isn't finite," I remind her. "The more you have the more you can give. I know you can find it in your heart to love this little boy as much as you will love our own child, as much as you love me. Just come with me tomorrow. Meet him. Please."

Abigail lurches to her feet and grabs her car keys. Without another word, she leaves the house. Like me, she often drives to put her feelings, her thoughts, in order. And tonight she had a lot to sort through.

I return to the couch and gaze at the ceiling praying I know Abigail as well as I think I do.

* * *

A/N: This story is told from Marshall and Mary's POV. This is Marshall's story so most of it is his POV.


	5. Upset sonn

Sonn of Mann – Chapter 5 - Son Upset

 _Marshall POV_

Marshall & Abigail's home later Thursday night.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know the couch cushions next to me dip. According to my watch Abigail had been gone four hours. But she came back. It was going to be okay. I don't think I ever raised my voice to her before. My shoulders relax as I realized we would soon be planning for life with a toddler as well as the wedding.

"Hi," I envelope her in a hug. She stiffens and doesn't return the embrace. I scrunch down so I could see her face, "Abby?"

She looks miserable. Her eyes are puffy, red rimmed. It is our first serious fight. I thought I caught a whiff of whiskey. Should she have been driving?

Abigail got up and moved to the love seat across from me. I study her face trying to discern what she had decided, **if** she had decided. She is the woman I love. I know her. She will do the right thing. She's not distancing herself. She just wants to see me face to face.

Abigail twists her hands in her lap and won't look at me. She realizes her hands had betrayed her and stops, folding her arms over her chest. Before I could say another word, she declared, "Marshall, you can't take that boy."

"Why the hell not?" What could she be thinking?

"For one, it will ruin your career."

"He's not an it, Abigail. Martin is a sweet lovable toddler, and this is the 21st century." I shrug and spread my hands. "Forty percent of all children in the United States are born to unmarried mothers."

She continues as if I hadn't said a word. "You know I am proud of you, Marshall. I'm looking forward to being the wife of a Chief Inspector, a fifth generation U.S. Marshal. You should wait. The promotion board is still deciding. Wait until they approve. Don't do anything rash. How would it look for the Chief to have an illegitimate child?"

"I'm not the first marshal to have a child out of wedlock." How could she be so naive?

"How can you even consider taking in a three year old? What about the wedding? Were you imagining him as the ring bearer?" She spit out the last question.

 _How could I take in a toddler? What about you Abigail?_ "I won't be taking in this child. We will. _"_

"That's just it, Marshall. We are building our careers. It's not fair to the child," she declared. "Our jobs are demanding. Children take time and attention. Now's not the time for you to be losing your focus, just when you are about to reap the rewards of all your years of work. After all, you don't even know him."

"And you won't even meet him," I accused. I thought Mary was averse to change. She's not a patch on you. What does my promotion have to do with Martin?

"We **can't** wait. Dana has a couple ready to adopt. If we don't get him now, we will lose him. Custody fights are expensive and messy and damaging for the child. What were you planning on doing when we had kids? Farm them out to boarding school while you 'build your career?'"

Abigail shook her head, no. "It would be different with our own child. I've already raised three children, my siblings."

"Exactly! That's why you'll make the perfect mother for Martin."

"Honey britches, we're waiting till after the wedding. After your promotion you could put your name on his birth certificate. That's all Dana asked you to do. I want to marry you. I want to have your children, just ours."

"Abby, sweetheart. If our situations were reversed, if you had a. . . .a love child, I would love that child as my own, because he or she was part you. Norah isn't mine, but I love her."

"Of course you do, because you love Mary." Is she serious?

"Of course I love Mary, as my partner, as my friend, but you are the woman I want to share my life." Abigail remains unconvinced.

"Abby, Abby," I plead. "Don't do this. We are perfect for one another. We love each other. We understand the job. We ..." I stuttered searching for the convincing unique fact that ties us together.

"For God's sake Abigail, we even have matching bullet wounds." I rubbed the hole in my chest left by Horst's henchmen. She had gotten her scar when she came to help Mary and I catch the car thieves at Peter's dealership. "We are meant to be together. How can you not love my child?"

"So, what is this? Love me love my child?"

At last, she gets it. That's exactly what it is but I don't want to force a decision now. I refuse to take the bait.

"Marshall, remember when we talked about adoption? I told you I can't see myself bonding with someone else's child. I may have raised my siblings but they were my family. I can't see caring in the same way for a child who isn't mine. It just seems," she paused shaking her head, "wrong. It's wrong."

I can't believe this. She doesn't mean it. But, why would she say it?

"Of course you can bond with him. You'll make a wonderful mother. Abby, just come with me tomorrow. Meet him," I cajoled. _What is she saying?_ "Wrong? How can it be wrong? This isn't adoption, although you could adopt Martin. I don't need to. I'm his father. How can a little boy be wrong?"

Abigail sniffed. Was she crying? Maybe, but she still had a cold glint in her eye. She refused to listen to her heart, assuming she even had one. "Marshall, I raised my siblings. My every action, every decision was second guessed by my parents. They gave me the responsibility but no authority. I'd be in the same situation as Martin's step mother."

"But, but," I spluttered. "It wouldn't be that way. If you adopt him you'd have full legal custody of Martin. I'll see to it. Please, please just meet him."

Drawing a deep breath, her shoulders dropped and she acquiesced. "Okay, okay. I will meet him. You arrange it and let me know the time."

I breathe a sigh of relief. This will work out.

 **Friday - Hotel Andaluz**

I had taken the day off. I found out what was needed to add my name to Martin's birth certificate. I checked into DNA testing and selected a lab. I bought Martin a few of my favorite books, and another train car for his collection.

I also called to arrange a visit with Martin. "Dana? This is Marshall. My fiancé would like to meet you and Martin. May we stop by after lunch? Will Martin be napping then?"

Dana says she will put Martin down for an early nap. He's been tired ever since coming to Albuquerque. He should be awake when we get there. Abigail has arranged for an extended lunch and so have I. I can't wait for her to meet my very own mini me.

At 1:30 Abigail and I are knocking on the door of Dana's suite.

Dana's hand is trembling as she pulls the door open. This is awkward. My former lover and current fiancé in the same room. Is Dana nervous or is this the effect of the drugs she takes to ease her pain? Abigail's eyes are sharp as she scrutinizes Dana like a suspect. When Dana leaves to get Martin, I point to the view of the mountains, naming a few of the peaks I've climbed.

Martin emerges from the bedroom clinging to Dana's skirt. The nurse is nowhere in sight.

I crouch down and speak softly, cajoling and friendly. "Hi big guy. Hi Martin. Did you have a nice nap?" He's rubbing his eyes. Either he was still asleep or he has allergies.

When he sees Abigail Martin freezes. Only his eyes move. He stares at her with the impunity of childhood. After a long moment, he looks away and focuses on his mother.

This doesn't have to be uncomfortable. "Why don't we sit down?"I urge. Bringing Abby and I down to Martin's level should assuage his fear. Dana and Martin sit scrunched together in the wing back chair. Abby and I sit on the couch.

"Martin? Do you remember me?" His thumb is firmly planted in his mouth. Dana murmurs to him and he nods uncertainly.

"This is my wife. She and I would like to have you live at our house. I'm your dad and Abigail would be like your mom." Okay so she's not my wife, but fiancé is too nuanced for a four year old.

At the mention of 'mom' he shakes his head no violently. I should have anticipated his antipathy to that concept. I should have used some other word. Damn!

"Martin, Martin, no sweetie," Abigail entreats. "No one can replace your mom. But when she can't be with you I can do the things she does. I can read to you." I had told Abigail about his love of books. "We can go to the park. We'll meet other boys for you to play with. You'll have fun at our house."

Bless her big as Texas heart. Despite her qualms about his affect on our careers she is trying to get to know my son.

Martin is still shaking his head. The longer Abigail talks the more he closes his eyes and shakes his head. When she says 'fun at our house,' he shouts "No, no, no!" and starts to cry.

Abigail looks at Dana mystified. Dana shrugs. "He's never done this before although he's not cuddly with Mike and Molly yet."

"The couple who are willing to adopt Martin," I explain to Abigail

"But he's never curled up and rocked himself like that. I'm not sure what's going on. When we get back to Phoenix I'll take him to Dr. Gonzales. She has been wonderful for him, and me." Dana is as confused as I am. Martin was fine when it was just me. Yesterday he was a shy little boy.

Dana tries to comfort and distract Martin. She gets him to stand and gets on her knees eye to eye with him. "Martin. Mommy's going to lie down. You know Mommy needs to take more naps now, right?" Martin nods and whispers, "Yes." Dana smiles at him. "I'll be in the next room, okay? While I'm resting why don't you show Mr. Marshall and Ms. Abigail your train? Bet they'd like to see it. Okay?"

Martin grips her skirt tight. Dana uncurls his hand and leads him to his toy filled back pack before retreating to the bedroom. I had left the stuff I bought in the car. I didn't want Dana to think we were bribing Martin.

Dana left the nanny cam with us and takes the monitor with her. I adjust the camera so that Martin is front and center.

I sit on the floor and Abigail follows. Abigail lets me do the talking. "What's in your bag Martin? Your mom said you have a train. Can I see it?" Martin reluctantly stays half way between us and the back pack. He edges closer to the bag and with a brave dash grabs it and pulls it behind the couch.

I carefully get up to look behind the couch. Martin is in a fetal position, arms wrapped around the backpack rocking and muttering no. Eyes closed he hasn't looked at us once. He didn't even look for Dana. He stays and rocks. After a while, Abigail grabs my elbow. "We're making it worse. Let's go."

What happened to the sweet boy I met yesterday? "Dana – I'll call you later, okay?" Dana has gotten up to comfort her child and nods without looking at us.

"Not exactly a successful visit," Abigail grumbles. I had to agree. "Marshall, let's go home. We need to talk."


	6. Family Feud

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

* * *

Sonn of Mann – Chapter 6 – Family Feud

 _Marshall POV_

We were silent on the drive home. I don't know what Abigail was thinking but I was trying to figure out what caused Martin to be so upset. He was a normal little boy yesterday.

Walking into our living room Abigail makes a stunning declaration. "I'm not an expert, but I think Martin is autistic. The repetitive 'no,' the rocking fetal position, the refusal to make eye contact are all behaviors associated with children on the autism spectrum."

I don't bother to sit. Neither does Abigail. "You're right," I reply gruffly. How dare she find fault with my son based having seen him a total of thirty minutes? "You're not an expert. Martin is just shy. He's in a strange place meeting new adults, strangers. He knows his mom is going away. Of course he wants to hang onto her. When I said you could be like a mom to him he reacted. What child wouldn't? It's all my fault. My poor choice of words."

"Marshall," Abigail says firmly. "Don't delude yourself. I've been around autistic children. Martin displays all the signs. I know you don't want to hear this, and I don't blame you. If he was my child I wouldn't want to hear it either."

My fists clench. "I don't believe for a minute that he is autistic. Even if he is, he could be brilliant in other areas. There are programs designed for autistic children. It isn't a death sentence!"

"No," she agrees. "It's a life sentence for us. Autistic children require even more time and attention than normal children. We shouldn't take on that responsibility now. It wouldn't be fair to him or us."

Now she's the one with the medical degree? "I'm calling Dana to see how Martin is doing." When Dana answers I don't hear Martin crying. "Dana? Is Martin okay? What happened? Do you have any idea why he seemed afraid of us?"

She tells me he's tired and new people and places upset him. After a few courteous pleasantries, I thank her and hang up. "Dana says she's never seen Martin act that way. It's simply the new place, new people and the knowledge that his mother will be gone."

Abigail insists, "It's common for autistic behaviors to present at his age. She's his mother. Of course she thinks he's fine. Her friends and his doctor probably know but don't want to add to her suffering."

I get my phone out again. "What are you doing? This is between us, Marshall."

"I'm calling Dana again. I want access to Martin's medical records. If she agrees you'll see he is a normal little boy." I can' t look at her now. "I'm not giving up on him Abigail. He was fine when I met him yesterday. He'll adjust. We just have to give him time."

I turn my back on Abigail while I talk to Dana. I finish, hang up and turn to Abigail. "She says Martin's pediatrician never hinted at autism in any form and she's willing to let me have his medical records." I know Martin is normal. He's in a stressful situation and Abigail and I didn't help.

"Sugarbear." Abigail says sadly. "I know this is hard. You just found out about him and now. . ."

"Dammit Abigail! He's not autistic!"

"How do you know?"

"I will prove it to you." It takes every ounce of concentration to push the correct button on my phone. "Mom?" I relax once I hear her voice. I force myself to sound lighthearted, casual. "Yeah, sorry. I know it's late but you're the only one who knows." Mom is up for playing 20 questions for about to be weds. "Abigail and I were talking about our childhoods. Abigail wants to know what I was like when I was three or four years old. I'm going to put you on speaker, okay?"

Mom pauses and thinks. The she lists the adjectives I expect. Quiet, introspective, attentive, kind. She said at times I seemed to exist in my own world. Unlike my brothers I never wanted to perform for the grownups, or even other kids because my brothers were quick to make fun of me. "Was there ever a time where I stopped talking or rocked myself?"

Mom assures me I was born talking and had yet to stop, although she did recall a time where I refused to speak and did a lot of what she calls self soothing. She thinks it was after I saw my dog get hit by a car and die. She says I'm her sensitive child and she figured it was my way of grieving.

"Thanks Mom." After a loving farewell, I end the call. "Well?" I ask Abigail. "The way Mom describes me isn't so different from what we saw Martin doing today. His mother's impending death is traumatic. He's grieving. Our visit, and my insensitive reference to you doing what his mom does triggered his behavior. The two of us saying he would live with us just made it worse. He understood that his mother would be gone. He didn't know what that meant."

"So, Martin isn't autistic because your mother says so?" Abigail sneers. Sensing her mistake, she pleads instead. "Sugar, I know you've got a big heart, but you need to concentrate on us, getting married and getting ABQ WITSEC in order."

I shake my head, no, no, no, echoing Martin but not saying it out loud. I had tried to correct Abigail's impression of Stan multiple times. She thought he was a pussycat in people clothes. She was sure Stan had left a mess for me to fix. She didn't know Stan was being promoted, and I had hinted but couldn't tell her. Not yet. She thought he was being replaced because he allowed Mary to walk all over him. As if anyone 'allowed' Mary Shannon anything.

"Honey britches, a child needs a lot of time and attention. This boy needs even more." She wraps her hands around my forearms pulling me close. "Albuquerque is just the beginning for us," she looks into my eyes and says softly. "Albuquerque is just a step along the way." This is news to me. Abigail and I are masters of making nice instead of making sense. Abigail was the anti-Mary. Abigail said Mary could raise hell and put a chunk under it, but I always knew what Mary thought.

"This boy needs stability," she continues. "He needs support. He needs programs designed to help him. When we move he'll be uprooted and lost. In a few years I'll ready to take the next step, and when that time comes, I want you with me. I've dreamed of being one of the first female chief of detectives in a major metropolitan city since I was a little girl. Since Daddy explained the job to me. Sugar bear, I'm sure you can see Albuquerque isn't that city."

When we move, not if? Albuquerque is my home. I thought it would be hers. I had no idea Abigail was that ambitious. Does she think being married to me polishes her resume? Am I just a necessary career accoutrement?

"Why am I just hearing about this dream of yours now? You said we had shared everything. Why didn't you share this? What about us Abigail? What about a family?"

"I am focusing on us Marshall, on our future. On what we could be. We can achieve it all, together. No one should stand in our way."

"You never answered my question. Why haven't you told me you want to be Chief of Detectives?"

"Seriously, you want to discuss this now?" she chides.

I nod my head and cross my arms over my chest. Damn straight I want to discuss this now.

"Fine. It should be obvious. You know me. You know how I do my job."

"You are careful, methodical, innovative but by the book. You have an excellent solve rate and the admiration of your peers," I recite.

"Just like you, Marshall. You do everything by the book so you can move up in rank. It took you a while, but here you are, Chief. You're getting the recognition you deserve. It's more difficult for women, and I don't want to wait ten years to take the next step up the ladder. I didn't move from Dallas to stay in Albuquerque. I came. . . "

"For the promotion to detective," I interrupt. There are so many things wrong with her statement about me I don't know where to start. I do my job to the best of my ability because it's the right thing to do. It didn't take me ten years to be promoted. I was where I wanted to be, doing a job I loved.

"Yes. It was the next step toward my ultimate goal. I knew I could do the job, but it wasn't happening in Dallas. I didn't tell you about it because Daddy advised me not to. Men feel threatened by a successful woman. I told one man . . . and he broke up with me. I couldn't lose you too Marshall. In time I know you'll see that Albuquerque is just a beginning for us," she entreated. "And having Martin will put all that on hold. Maybe indefinitely."

Chief of Detectives, really? Isn't there a limit? One Chief per household?

"So you're saying my son is an obstacle?" I'm desperate. "It doesn't have to be that way, Abs." My chance for a loving wife and instant family is circling the drain. Our relationship was built on a foundation that a toddler could crumble.

"Honey britches, you don't even have proof that he is your son." She's back to that? First my son is autistic, now he isn't even my son?

"You heard my mother," I rebut. "He acts like me! Look, look at this photo." I dug a photo out of my back pocket. "I found this in one of the albums mom gave me. "Abigail, sweetheart, that's me at three. Now look at this." I took my phone from between her hands so she could see the picture I had taken of Martin. I smile as I look at him, standing tall in a cowboy hat and boots. "I sent this to my mom. **She** thought it was me." _Just look Abigail, damn you._ "He's the spitting image of me. Here's your proof." I push the photo and the phone at her. _Oh Abby. There are none so blind as those that will not see._

Abigail looks horrified. "You shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't have sent your mom that photo. Did you tell her who it was?"

I hadn't told my mom about Martin, but Abigail didn't need to know that. "Why shouldn't I tell my parents? If even my own mother can see the family resemblance why can't you? He belongs with us."

"Because," Abigail declares, "he doesn't. There is no place for him in our lives now or in the future. The future we've planned. The career accomplishments I've dreamed of all my life. I want children, I want our children, and I want our children to fit in with our families."

"What do our families have to do with it?" _To be fair, I was the one who brought my_ _mother into this_. "This is our decision, Abigail. My parents would love another grandson. Wouldn't yours?" I got up and paced, my heart pounding. I stop and face Abigail, digesting her last comment. "You think I don't fit in with your family? Is that it?" That hurt. "This is a fine time to bring that up."

"Daddy liked you." she replied softly, looking down, away from the photos.

I stood over her. "Yeah, well my father didn't like you!" Her face fell and I felt awful. "Oh Abby. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No Marshall. If it's the truth you should." She looks into my eyes. "Is it?" She can tell from my face it is.

"Why doesn't your Dad like me?" Her voice is small and quiet, a huge change from the strident declarations of ambition she'd just made. "Your Mom and I get along fine. They both seem" she pauses wistfully searching for the right word, "happy about the wedding."

I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't hurt her, even now. The truth is neither of my parents thought Abigail was a suitable wife for me. Mom hid it better. I hadn't told Abigail because it would affect her relationship with them. We wouldn't see them that often. A little deception seemed justifiable in pursuit of family harmony.

Despite Abigail's considerable charm, Mom and Dad's decades of dealing with law enforcement families led them to conclude that she wouldn't fight for us, for me, let alone be able to save me. _They were wrong about that._ Abigail was fighting now, but for only me, not for my son. How can I make her understand it's a package deal?

I ignore her question and focus on her last statement. "Your father liked me? Past tense, as in he no longer likes me?"

"Well," now it's Abigail's turn. "I talked to Daddy last night." _Of course she did. And I thought_ _Mary had daddy issues._ "We agreed that a child, especially a special needs child does not fit our lives. Especially with your promotion still unconfirmed. Daddy understands our goals, what we want to do with our lives, our careers. He's always advised me, and he wants to help you too." I wonder if it was his idea to bring coffee to a crime scene? Did he 'advise' her to marry a U.S. Marshal?

Wringing her hands she spilled. "I want the whole enchilada Marshall. I want to marry you. I want children with you, our children. I want you to be Chief Inspector and I want to be Chief of Detectives. I want our life together without entanglements."

I was still pacing, shaking my head. Love is the prime entanglement. I stop in front of her. "He understands **your** goals, Abigail. He doesn't seem to have a clue what I want. You know I want a family. Now, through some twist of fate, I have a son, a normal little boy. Your goal seems to be to marry a man without a son so he doesn't get in the way of your career."

 _I should have_ _known._ All of her friends are younger. They can wait to start their families. I don't want to be the oldest dad at back to school night. None of her friends share my hobbies and interests. I can play a mean game of scrabble and I'm a good listener. With her friends, and they were **all** her friends, I listened a lot more than I talked _. Wouldn't Mary be surprised_? I discuss guns and ammo, but I can do that with Mary.

It seems Abigail hadn't really cared about the things that interest me. Mary at least was honest when she dismissed my hobbies.

I stopped pacing and leaned toward Abigail. "Do I need your father's approval before you marry me?" I was pleased to see her shiver when I whisper in her ear. "Where is the independent woman I proposed to?"

I watch her expression harden as she raises her face. "It's not like that Marshall. I make up my own mind, but I've learned that," she looks down and tilts her head, "often, my father does know best." She inhales slowly, trying to project an air of calm. "It's just. . . in this case, neither of us see a place for this child in our lives. Your promotion. . . ."

"My child. You can't see yourself raising my son," I shout. "How will that be different when the child is yours and mine? You'll only care for your half? Hell, Abigail, Norah isn't my daughter, but I love her as if she were my own."

Abigail recoils as if I had struck her. "Have you been sneaking off to see her?" Her accusation catches me off guard. She had once told me that when I held Norah the rest of the world ceased to exist. Even she ceased to exist.

"No, why would you think that? Don't you trust me?" My voice becomes loud again. "You asked me to sever my relationship with Mary. No Mary, no Norah." _Mary made sure of that._ "You asked me to give up my best friend. And I did," I yell. "Why is raising my son too much to ask? I know he's my son. And when the DNA test comes back, you'll have your damn proof."

Abigail had shrunk back when I started shouting. Now she leans forward and squares her shoulders. "Marshall, you need to choose the life we've planned. The boy might be your son. Putting your name on his birth certificate now could derail all our plans. Just wait."

I gritted my teeth. "I told you. We **can't** wait. Dana is dying. Her life is measured in days, not months. Martin needs us before his mother is dead." Who is this callous woman? "You're not seriously asking me to choose between you and my son?"

"No," Abigail sobbed. "You need to stay where we are. Pick our future and your career." She drops her eyes and continues, "If he really is your son, he would be proof that you aren't the man I thought you were. You say you love Norah. Maybe that makes you the better person, or maybe it means you love Mary more than me." She looks up, shocked that she had said it out loud. That certainly explains her rants concerning Mary.

"Are you saying you will give up us, all that we've done, our engagement, this house, the months we've spent building a future all because I have a son?"

"I just know," she stood, nose to nose with me, "I can't raise a child who isn't mine. I shouldn't have to."

"Then you're not the woman I thought you were." I grab my jacket and head to the front door. "I'm going to a hotel. I'll stay there until you come to your senses."

Between sobs she yells back, "That will be when hell freezes over. I'd as soon bite a bug," As I slam the front door I hear something small hit it. Something about the size of an engagement ring.

* * *

A/N: I know less about autism than Abigail.


	7. The Morning After

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

* * *

Sonn of Mann – Chapter 7 – Morning After

Friday night / Saturday morning

Despondent at the sudden downturn in our relationship, I throw myself into my truck and drive. I have my go bag so all I need is a place to stay. Sleeping on the balcony of the Sunshine Building was Mary's thing, not mine. The Hotel Andaluz? Why not. I could afford a few nights. Especially now that I don't need the money for a honeymoon. It didn't take long to get there and I was glad the small rooms were several floors below Dana's suite. Didn't want Dana to think I was stalking her. The room didn't have a view, but the bed is comfortable.

As I complete my nightly regimen, I remember Mom. I promised we'd talk when I sent her the photo of Martin. She should be asleep. A call this late is never good news. After tonight, I'm afraid Abigail will call my parents to convince them to side with her. Mom has her first cup of coffee by 7, so I set my alarm accordingly. Like Mary, she functions better after a dose of caffeine.

How do I feel? I'm happy about Martin. I'm sad about Dana. Dejected about the wedding but where is the despair, the rage? Abigail and I had committed to one another early in our relationship. We worked at being a couple. We were passionate, caring, thoughtful, sweet. I loved her. I love her. I thought she knew me. What the hell happened tonight? Who is that woman? Maybe we rushed things. Maybe it was too soon.

After spending the night recycling our argument, morning comes too soon. I silence the alarm, and prepare myself for a conversation I dread. I want my parents to be proud of me. I know they love me, but how will they feel about Martin and the canceled wedding? Another reason for Dad to pull out the FAIL card?

I sit on the edge of the bed. My parents phone rings twice, and a gravelly voice answers.

"Dad?" Oh shit. I feel like a little kid. I can tell Mom anything and she can help me figure out how to tell Dad. "What are you doing home?" Dad gives a dry almost laugh that sounds more like a cough.

"I'm giving retirement a test drive. How about you? That wedding still following your perfect plan?" _Not exactly_. Dad knows planning is my forte. I'm glad he'll be miles away when I disappoint him again.

By the time I clear my throat but before I say anything I hear Mom asking "Is that Marshall? Let me talk to him." When Dad hands over the phone, I sigh in relief. I hear him say "I think . . . ." and I miss the rest but it ends with "wedding."

"Marshall," she says warmly.

"Good morning Mom. How are you?" Our conversations always start this way. I ask how she is, she asks how I am. Yadda yadda.

"Sorry I haven't called recently."

"Marshall, honey, don't you worry about it. Weddings take time, and since you and Abigail insist on doing everything, you don't have time to gab with your old mother."

"I always make time for you Mom." Years ago in an effort to frustrate Mary I told her I called my mother every single day. She believed me, and I counted that a secret victory. Mom and I talk frequently, but not every day.

"I'm so glad you called. Your Dad and I have some questions. Do you and Abigail want both families at the same hotel? We need to make our reservations soon."

Mom sounds happy. I know she and Dad wondered if I'd ever get married. I am their only single child. The only child without offspring. That will change after today.

"Mom, don't worry about the hotel." Before I can continue she begins, "But there's so much left to do. We need a place to stay. We have to arrange for your brothers and their . . . ."

"There isn't going to be a wedding." I blurt louder than I intend. There. It was out. Finally. Even though I know it is the right thing to do, I feel awful. Everyone was anticipating a family reunion. I know my brothers had cooked up something awkward and embarrassing for my bachelor party. Small consolation that I get to miss it.

"Marshall?" It was the tone she used when I was sick. She could get me to stop the brave boy routine and admit how I really felt.

"Yeah," I sigh crestfallen.

"Did you say the wedding is off, not just postponed?" She can't believe her ears. I don't blame her.

Here goes nothing. "Yes Mom."

"Oh honey. What happened? I know you put a lot of effort into the relationship and the wedding." There's a brief period of silence. I think I hear her turn away from the microphone and say "Told you" to Dad.

"I'm sorry Mom. I'm sorry to disappoint you. I know you were looking forward to the wedding, the family..."

"Marshall honey, don't you worry about that. You're the one . . . . I'm sure you can fix this. You just need to ..."

"I don't think so Mom." As much as I wish I could fix it, Abigail is adamant. I don't know what else to do to convince her that Martin should be our child.

"Well, if you say so." Mom was going to accept my denial just like that?

"Mom?"

"I can't say I'm surprised."

"What do you mean you aren't surprised?" What did she see that I missed? Abigail and I were, are perfect together. We like the same things – don't we? I can't dwell on that now. I need to get through this conversation.

"I'm not surprised because you kept on postponing the wedding." She was right. We had moved the date because of things that happened at my job and then hers. "You would have found a way to make it happen if you both really wanted it."

"Mom," I protested. "There were legitimate reasons I asked Abigail to move the date. There was an incident with a fugitive," I began.

"Mary's father," she chimes in.

"You know?" Not all marshals operate under the strict secrecy of WITSEC, but I hadn't realized my own mother was so clued in.

"Marshall, your father heads the Fugitive Task Force. Did you really think I wouldn't know? Mary is your partner. What concerns her concerns you. And if you are involved, we are concerned."

"Then you know why the wedding was postponed. We lost our reservation for the hall because I missed signing the contract and another couple. . . ." That was the first time. The next one was on Abigail. An incident at her job. I thought our persistence was a sign of our commitment. "Postponing the wedding meant something?"

Mom had offered to help with anything and everything but Abigail turned her down, said she didn't want to impose. She didn't even ask her own mother to help. I thought moms and daughters waited for that golden moment of wedding planning. Brandi and Jinx had been in a daze for months although the wedding was a bust.

"Yes, that should have been a clue," Mom offered. "I could be wrong, but it seemed to me that Abigail's main concern was how she and her bridesmaids would look. She mentioned she wanted to impress certain relatives. Everything else, the invitations, and the music she left to you. I thought she trusted your taste."

A moment of silence descends as we think about the ramifications of calling off the wedding. Then she gasps, "The invitations!"

"Don't worry Mom. I have them." Once again I thanked my lucky stars. Procrastination and perfectionism paid off.

After dodging that bullet, Mom regains her voice. "You are one of the most easy going people on this earth. I may be your mother but I can't imagine anything you did that would upset that girl. She was crazy about you, so enthusiastic and cheerful. What happened?" I can always count on Mom to take my side. She and Mary always have my back.

"That's what I thought too. Seems I was wrong." How could I have missed that? "Abigail isn't the woman I thought she was, Mom."

"What do you mean honey?'

"I learned something and when I told her she said she couldn't marry me." I can't think of Abigail's rejection now. "Mom, remember that picture I sent you?"

"You know Marshall, I could swear that's you, but I don't recognize the background and it must have been colorized. Where did you get it?"

I hope to ease into my revelation. "Mom, how would you and Dad like another grandson."

Mom's tone is sharp. "If Abigail is pregnant, why would you call off the wedding?"

"Abigail's not pregnant."

"Is Mary?"

"Is Mary what? Pregnant?" Why would she even think that? "Do you think I would sleep with one woman while engaged to another?"

"Well, no," she says pensively. "But it would explain why you and Abigail broke up." She says it reasonably, as if Mary and I being more than partners was a given.

I thought Mom would need to brace herself for my news, but she had managed to surprise me. "That isn't a picture of me, Mom. I found out yesterday that I have a son. His name is Martin and he is three years old, almost four. I took that picture."

"A son? A child? Your son?"

I gave her a few minutes to gather her wits.

Before I was ready, she spoke. "I never thought that you would have a love child." Leave it to mom to find a way to sugar coat it. "There were a couple of near misses with your brothers," she prattles on. That's news to me. Wonder which one got some girl in trouble. Explains why they both married young.

"I'm still your bachelor son, well, bachelor father." Abigail took care of that. "Face it Mom, you're a hard act to follow. You set the bar so high I'm having trouble finding a girl to meet it."

"Now don't you sweet talk me young man. We have serious things to discuss." I know she means decide, but she always listens and lets me think it's my decision alone. Dad must have left the room because he hasn't weighed in. "And he's three? A three year old? I'm confused."

"I never knew Mom. You have to believe me. If I had known I would have told you. His mother told me yesterday."

Mom got her bearings quickly. "No wonder I thought it was you. He looks just like..."

I finish her sentence. "That photo you put in the album you made for me. Yes, I know."

"Oh dear. Marshall forgive me for jumping in before you have your say, but how could you not know you had a son? You've always been cautious and respectful toward the women you date. You don't take chances. And even if you did, after a few months it would be obvious."

"It would have been obvious if I had seen her but Dana moved away before she started to show. Her Dad was sick, and she quit her job at the university and went to live with them. I saw her for the first time in almost five years yesterday."

"So Abigail. . . ."

"Abigail doesn't want to raise my son." I reply disgusted. "I tried everything I could think of Mom. How could she say she loves me when she wants nothing to do with my son?" I'm hanging on to my ability to discuss this by a thread.

"Let me talk to her. Put her on the phone," Mom insists. She's a fixer, like me.

"Abigail's not here. I'm at a hotel."

"That bad hmm? She doesn't want to raise your son and you do?" Her tone was cautious. I know she's thinking of the complications this will cause in my life, in my career. "You realize this is going to be as easy as putting socks on a rooster?"

"Absolutely." I assure her. "Mom, if I don't take him he's going to be adopted by strangers. His mother has stage 4 ovarian cancer." I hear mom inhale sharply. Her high school friend had died from it. She understands it is a death sentence.

"I suppose Dana," she tries out the name, "had her reasons for not telling you before this."

I shrug before remembering she can't see me. "I guess so. I don't know what she was thinking. She came to Albuquerque this week to see me. She wanted me to know I had a son. She asked if I'd be willing to put my name on his birth certificate. That's all she asked, but mom, he's a Mann. He's my son!"

"Is he...you've seen him? Does he seem, "she hesitated, "healthy?"

I chuckled. "As far as I can tell he's a typical toddler. I hope to spend some time with him today. Dana told me he loves books. She said he has several board books memorized, word for word."

"Just like you." I could hear the warmth of memory in her voice.

"So, has Abigail seen him?" she asks.

"Yes. She met him and wants no part of him. She thinks he's autistic!"

"Is that why you called the other night asking how you behaved at that age?"

"Yeah. Martin knows his mom is going away, dying. When Abigail met him, we said that she would be able to do things with Martin like his mom did. He reacted by saying no over and over and crying and rocking himself."

"So that's why Abigail thinks he's autistic? What do you think?"

"I think he's grieving, acting like I did when my dog died. Abigail contends she can't raise another woman's child, autistic or not. She doesn't accept that he is my child, my son. Why doesn't she understand that Mom?" I feel as if I was on her lap, crying and confused about why the big boys kicked sand in my face at the playground. Mom had managed to sooth me then, I hope she can do it now.

A silence follows. "Marshal, you've got to realize, not everyone has a heart as big as yours. Your capacity to love is greater than most. It's why your father and I worry about you. You don't have a tough outer shell. You are all heart." Mom still had the knack for saying just the right thing to make me smile.

I've been on an emotional roller coaster. Mom, as always, is directing it up. "So you don't think I'm wrong to want to raise him?"

"Of course not. He's a Mann. Why wouldn't you raise him?" I sobbed. I hadn't expected such a ringing endorsement.

"His mother has arranged for him to be adopted. I can't let that happen Mom."

We talked for another half hour. We discuss the adoption, Dana's prognosis, and Martin. I convince her not to fly out immediately. I need to talk to Dana and get to know Martin.

"Mom? Is Dad around?" I need to tell the man that he is a grandfather, again.

"Uh, no. He just left." Mom is the worst liar. "Mom, I need to tell him."

"And you will. Just give me some time to talk to him. Besides," she warns coyly, "You might be seeing both of us next week." Mom threatens in the nicest possible way.

"I have to talk to Dana first. There are excellent hospice facilities in Albuquerque and Martin could get to know me. If Dana agrees to move, I'd love to have you and Dad visit. I'm going to need babysitters." I'm only half joking.

"We'd love to, but we are putting the cart way before the horse here." Mom points out.

"I know. Dana has to decide or at least agree." Moving at this stage of her illness isn't recommended, but I can't see any other way to assure Martin's well being. I'm sure Martin is her priority.

"I want to meet him as soon as possible. It's been too long since I've had a wee one on my lap. When you are ready, say the word and we'll be there. I don't think you realize what you are taking on."

"Probably not. Not entirely. But I've seen what Mary does for Norah. I've got a pretty good idea." Trying to lighten the mood I said, "At least I won't have to do middle of the night feedings."

Mom chuckles. "I wouldn't count on that. My boys were always hungry and weren't above sneaking out of bed for a midnight snack."

"I need to go Mom. I've got some things to do before I see Dana and Martin today."

"Call me honey. I want to know all the details of my grandson. Send more pictures!"

"I will Mom, I will."

Later Saturday morning

After stopping at several stores, I'm at Dana's suite. Her nurse, Carolyn, answers the door, shushing me. "She had a bad night."

"Is Martin here?" I ask hopefully craning my neck to see if I can spot him. "I brought him some things." She tilts her head toward the far side of the living area. Martin is sitting on the carpet building block towers. I watch him stack blocks then knock them down.

"Do you think he'd let me play with him?" The nurse knows I am his father.

She gave me an assessing look, and nods yes. "If you keep him occupied, I can take care of Dana." Good, because I plan to spend as much time with Martin as I can.

"He likes to play with his blocks alone, but he does like his books," she confided with a pensive smile. I gave her a broad smile. "That's great," I break out my most gracious smile. "I brought him these." I held up a sturdy bag with the BookWorks logo. I've shopped there for my nieces and nephews.

Shucking my jacket, I watch the young boy. When he sees me he abandons the blocks for his pile of books. He's turning the pages of Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel. I remember my mom saying she had gotten tired of reading this to me she finally bought the cassette tape and I listened to it every night until it wore out.

Easing my way across the room, I sit near but not too close waiting for Martin. When he looks up I lean toward him. "Hi Martin. Remember me?" The chestnut haired boy looks up and nods solemnly. "Would you like me to read that?" He looks away, but pushes the book toward me. Wish Abigail was here. He **is** a normal child, just shy.

"Is it okay if I sit here?" He didn't object and I sit Indian style, using the couch as a back support. "Let's give this a look." I hold the book out, pages spread, so Martin can see them and begin to read. I see the nurse watching. Satisfied that Martin is taken care of, she goes to tend to Dana.

I was so engrossed in reading and watching Martin's reaction, I didn't realize we had read his books and all the books I bought. Martin was leaning against my knee, focused on the colorful pages. "The end," I intoned, closing the last book. "Again," Martin said. "Again." Looking at me hopefully he added, "Pwease?"

So little and so polite. How could I say no? "Should we start with this book?" I held up Mike Mulligan. Martin nods enthusiastically and climbs into my lap. My heart overflows. I had made the right choice. Abigail would be fine without me.

About half way through the stack, I notice Martin's eyes are closed. Putting the book down I cradle him against my chest and lay my head on the couch cushion. Eventually, my eyes close too.


	8. Mary Meets Martin

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

* * *

Sonn of Mann Chapter 8 - Mary meets Martin

Mary POV

Early Sunday morning

I'm in the kitchen, hair wet, almost dressed. Norah has been changed, fed and changed again after spewing her oatmeal and pears over her shirt, and mine. Sundays used to be the day I could sleep in. Providing the witnesses behaved themselves. Today I managed to get up before Norah and sneak into the shower before she began wailing.

As I'm lifting Norah out of the high chair, my phone starts its vibrating dance across the counter. Plunking Norah back into her seat, I hold her with one hand and grab my phone with the other.

A text from Marshall? He hasn't sent me a text since we were working together.

 _Lobby of the Hotel Andaluz ASAP. Text when you're on your way._

What the hell? My phone dings again.

Text from Marshall: _This is not a joke_.

Okay, okay so it's not a joke. After all the times Marshall came when I needed him, it's my turn. Before Norah I wouldn't have been up at this hour. Thanks to my fat little alarm clock terrorist I'm up and even awake way too early.

Boots, jeans and a shirt that doesn't smell of baby vomit – much. When I pick up Norah to put her in the car seat, she's wet. I change her, wrestle her into her fuzzy jacket and load the entire contents of Norah's room into my minivan with the 'I Used to Be Cool' bumper sticker.

The Andaluz isn't a long ride. I keep one eye on the road and one on the rear view mirror and Norah. Parking near the hotel is a bitch. I hand the keys to the valet – Marshall is so going to pay for this. I release my tiny prisoner from her restraints and muscle her home away from home over my shoulder. Why do they call them diaper bags when that's the least of their contents?

The last time I was here I only saw the coffee shop. The lobby is a huge cavernous space. The tile is dark, the ceiling high. Leather chairs and foot stools are scattered around the fountain in the middle. Splayed on one of those ridiculous mushroom hassocks is my former partner.

"Marshall?" Normally I would say "What the hell?" but that's not something I want to hear coming from Norah's rose petal lips, so I stifle.

Marshall looks like hell. His hair is mussed and there are dark circles under his eyes His shirt collar is sticking up on one side, and his boots haven't been polished. "Is this your new look? Cowboy grunge? I gotta say it doesn't do much for you." I swivel my head looking for his better half. "Isn't it too early for the ghost tour?"

He glares at me but there's no heat in it. There is sadness. His mouth is in a thin unhappy line.

"Mare," Oh it's Mare now is it? My eyebrow goes up as I cock my head. Then I remember all the wedding crap he blew off for me when James - _not Daddy -_ invaded my life.

"You brought Norah?" He drags me down here on Sunday, my day off, and that's all he's got to say?

I adjust the slipping diaper bag and re-position Norah higher on my shoulder. "Duh. It's Sunday. Like God, Joanna rests on the seventh day. You said to come ASAP, so I did."

Marshall looks appropriately chagrined. He slowly lifts himself off the hassock. "Here, let me take that." He sags under the unexpected weight of the diaper bag. He straightens and starts walking. "Thanks for coming. There's someone I want you to meet."

"Why now Mr. Bedraggled? Couldn't it wait till a decent hour?" I follow him across the lobby wondering about the mystery person. "Are you hiding them under your trench coat?"And where is Abigail? Does she know you slipped your leash?

"They're leaving this afternoon." Marshall gets to the elevator, pushes the button and then stands behind me so he can talk to Norah.

They? Who are they? His parents? Before I consider turning him down, which I wouldn't, he says "Please," in a raspy tired voice. Marshall is/was my best friend. I want him to be happy. I 'released' him to be with his southern fried Avon lady because she makes him happy. Something I could never do. It's not a sacrifice to do what he asks.

I roll my eyes as he gives Norah one final coochey coo and moves to the open elevator. I'm not sure he's going to stay standing and with my arms full of Norah I can't catch him. He continues to defy gravity and motions us in. My eyebrows rise when the elevator stops at the floor with the expensive suites. Who is the moneybags he wants me to meet? Never thought his folks had money. Ah, probably checking things out for the wedding.

Norah fusses at the change in altitude. She hasn't been in many elevators. The plush hall carpeting masks our footsteps as we parade down the hall. Norah eyes the wall lights, turning and blinking as a new one comes into view. Marshall stops at a door and knocks lightly. The door is opened by a woman I don't recognize.

Marshall whispers, "Hi Carolyn. Are we too early?" Why is he whispering?

The woman replies in a normal voice. "No. We just finished breakfast."

From behind Carolyn comes a dark haired woman who says. "Marshall, Mary. So good to see you."

"Yeah, hi." I fake smile. "Marshall told me you were in town and I . . .." I shrug. I know this woman, Dana. Marshall's former teacher. I don't know her in the same carnal way my partner knew her. Who knew two lanky people could fit lying down in my old Probe?

The years haven't been kind to Dana, but she brightens when she spots Norah. "Oooo, look at that cutie." She smiles broadly at Norah. "Hi sweetie. Want to get that jacket off? There are toys here and my little boy can't wait to meet you."

Little boy? Dana has a little boy? Where is the ankle biter? Ah, there. I spot him behind the other woman, the one Marshall called Carolyn.

"Come in, come in. Sit down and make yourselves comfortable." Why does my partner want me to meet his former lover and her child?

I sit on the couch with Norah on my lap, firmly in my grasp. The little boy peers around the other woman's leg. He looks familiar. Must be the cowboy boots. Years ago Marshall showed me his childhood photo album. I studied it to gather black mail possibilities. My eyes widen when I remember the photo of little Marshall, cowboy boots, hat, and gold star on his plaid shirt. I look up as the memory registers and find Marshall watching me.

There's a resemblance there. Could this be his nephew? If that's the case what does Dana have to do with it? I'm confused, and it's too late to blame it on pregnant brain.

"Martin," Dana whispers as she bends down to the little boy, taking his hand. "I want you to meet Mr. Marshall's friends. This is Mary." Then she points to Norah. "And this little cutie is her little girl, Norah." She looks at me to check if she got the name right. Aha, Marshall had filled her in.

Martin? Why does he want me to meet him? This can't be Dana and Marshall's kid, can it? The indulgent fatherly smile he gives Martin seems to confirm my conclusion. Shit! How had he managed to keep THAT a secret? The mini Mann toddles near and points at Norah. He smiles and squeals, "Babee!"

I'm not surprised that Martin is likes babies. Like father like son. "You got that right." I tell him kindly, faking the cheery tone adults use with young children. "Norah is a baby. I'm her mom. Norah and I are friends" - _well we_ _used to be friends -_ "of Marshall's. It's nice to meet you Martin." Marshall looks impressed. I can do manners Doofus. Not everyone deserves them, but this mother and this child get my best behavior.

Martin stands a foot away from Norah, eyes bright, a delighted smile on his face. He tilts his head to the right and then the left, trying to decide if she's animal, vegetable or mineral. Marshall is talking, and I hear him but I keep my focus on Martin and Norah. Never can tell what runs through those incompletely formed brains. He or she might try to poke the other in the eye.

I wrestle Norah out of her fuzzy hat and jacket. Martin holds out his hand, takes them and lays them on the other chair. He comes back, leans down hands on his knees so his face is right next to hers and says quietly "Hi Norah." He checks with me to see if what he's doing is okay. "That's right. Her name is Norah, and yours" I point to him and smile, "is Martin."

Completing his examination of Norah, Martin turns and grabs a board book. When he gets close to Norah she reaches trying to grab the book. Martin shows it to her and recites his version of the story as he flips through page after page. He's pretty close with the wording, but then he would be. Figures he would have Marshall's prodigious memory. Another trivia trap is born.

Softly Martin says "Hi Norah, hi." He looks at me then gently pats her hand. Norah chirps and manages to grab his hair. He stands patiently while Marshall and I extricate him. He doesn't even cry and given the grip Norah has on his hair it must hurt.

"Hey buddy," Marshall croaks. He sounds like a two pack a day smoker. "How about we show Norah some of your toys?" He folds himself down to the floor and pulls the small toy box near.

Martin nods enthusiastically and grabs my hand, pulling me toward the floor. Dana stays on the couch. "Woah, hold on there Martin. She and I are a set and I need to move slow so I don't drop her."

Without getting up Marshall leans his lanky frame and grabs my elbow. In no time I'm down where blocks and books cohabit. God, is it just me or is the floor a lot further down than it used to be? Norah makes herself comfortable in my lap and turns her attention to the other little person in the room.

Martin picks up a book and brings it over to Norah. "Do you have books Norah? I have lots of books. Mr. Marshall gave me this one."

He holds the book out to Marshall. "Read please."

Marshall points to himself and uses a high squeaky voice and flaps his hands. "Me? You want me to read this?" Marshall makes a goofy face.

Martin smiles, nods and says "Yeah." Then he adds "Pwease." He's a natural born Mr. Manners.

Marshall takes the book, flaps the pages, holds it upside down and starts to read backwards. Martin giggles and puts the book right side up. Norah takes in the entire silly performance. Finally Marshall starts to read. By the third book, Norah is dozing. I've got to record this to play the next time I have trouble getting to sleep – or getting Norah to sleep.

Dana is watching us and smiling. God she looks awful. I lean back and tell her quietly, "Baby whisperer." She nods in agreement.

I tap Marshall on the knee, asking for a hand up. "Time for me to go partner." While he gets his feet under him, I watch Martin.

Martin looks devastated, and takes Norah's hand but looks at me. "Go bye bye?"

"Yup buddy. She needs to nap in her own bed. It was nice meeting you, Martin."

Before I can get up, he slowly leans in and gives Norah a soft kiss on the cheek. Norah squawks and grabs his shirt. Dana has a good laugh while Marshall and I loosen her grip. I'm glad Norah made her smile.

* * *

Once in the hallway, I can't hold back. "Where have you been hiding them?"

Marshall grimaces and his raspy voice rumbles. "I just met Martin Thursday. Dana never told me about him. She left Albuquerque before she was even sure she was pregnant. She wasn't sure he was mine, but as he grew it became . . . ."

"Even a blind man could see he's yours!"The elevator disgorges us into the lobby. I'm still catching my breath from hustling down the hall to catch the elevator. "Dana's sick?"

"Ovarian cancer." God what a terrible horrible no good way to die. Poor Marshall. He finds he has a son, and then learns his son's mother is dying.

I manage to ignore the fact that Dana kept Martin's existence from Marshall. I didn't want to tell Mark about Norah, so I kinda get it. "So Dana wants you to take the boy?" Seems like the right thing to do. Why else would she be here?

"She wants to put my name on his birth certificate. I'm the one who wants Martin."

"And Abigail?"

Marshall shakes his head in despair. "I wish Abigail was here. When she came Martin reacted badly. It was my fault. I mentioned that I was his father and introduced Abigail as like his mom."

"You said that?" I may be an insensitive bitch, but even I know you don't remind a four year old that his mother is dying and another woman will try to take her place. Especially not Marshall's son, who must be as sensitive as his father. Martin would be as devoted to Dana as Marshall is to his mom.

"Yeah, Stupid, huh?" He hangs his head.

"No one can ever replace his mother." Which is ironic considering I might have been better off without Jinx.

"I know, I know. The more Abigail talked the more agitated he got. He cried, sobbed 'no, no,' grabbed his knees and rocked."

"He's grieving," I conclude.

"That's what I think." Marshall agrees. "He knows Dana is going away. What Abigail and I hammered home is that he isn't going with her. He may be only four, but he gets it."

"Of course he does. He's your son." Marshall gets a strange look. He's not used to me saying anything nice about him. But this really wasn't about him. This is about Martin. Gotta love a four year old who adores my daughter. But when he's fourteen, all bets are off.

"Thanks for coming Mare."

"Wait. Don't you want to talk about this? We could hit the coffee shop and . . . "

"No," he protests.

"C'mon." I grab the strap on the diaper bag he's carrying.

"Besides," I grin. "There's no time limit on the valet parking."

"That I'm paying. Yeah yeah."

We sit and I try to get Marshall to talk about this sudden turn in his life. He's talked to his mother, which is good. He's afraid of what his father will say. I try to get him to appeal to Abigail, but he's still nursing his wounds from their last fight. I try putting myself in Abigail's shoes, but can't. Martin is Marshall. If she loves Marshall she should love Martin. I don't get it.

After a half hour, Norah starts fussing. That wasn't a long enough nap upstairs.

"Marshall?"

He looks up, smiling sadly. "You know you can call," I assure him. "Anytime. I may not have any answers, but I'll listen."

When he goes to take the diaper bag, I tell him, "No, I've got it. I need the bag to balance the baby."

Once the valet brings the car I realize Marshall hadn't given me the money for parking. I look back and there he comes, coat flapping, hair flopping.

"I got this Mare." He pays the valet while I secure Norah. Before I can get in the car he grabs my arm. "Thanks for coming Mary." He looks down. "Sorry to disturb your Sunday."

I'm at the wheel when I wave my hand dismissively. "De nada."

* * *

A/N: Martin is three, almost four years old.


	9. Fight Club

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

Check out my Marshal Masquerade story for some Halloween IPS fun.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 9 – Fight Club

Marshall POV

Monday night

I can't believe I'm driving to work after office hours on my day off. Mary better have a damn good reason. I jump into the opened elevator and press the WITSEC floor, 1…2…3…4…counting the floors to distract myself from spectacular mess that is my life.

DING!

Where is she? "Mare?" The office is dark. Just the emergency panels lit. The shadows make the familiar eerie.

"Hey" A hear a voice in front of me.

That doesn't sound like her. Just outside the conference room, back lit by the single emergency ceiling light is my former fiancée Abigail.

"Hi" she says tenderly. "I'm glad you came." She sounds relieved.

What the hell is going on? Oh God! What is Abigail doing in the WITSEC office? She can't be going into Witness Protection!

"Where's Mary?" That partner of mine has some explaining to do. I crane my neck, checking her desk. Did Abigail off my former partner? I know she dislikes Mary. She practically snarled every time Mary called.

Moving past Abigail into the conference room I spot Mary. She's sitting at the far end. Elbows on the table her head in her hands, hiding her face. Given what she had just done – getting me here under false pretenses - I'd be ashamed too. Then she looks up with a tremulous smile and eyes filled with pain. Is she upset about our breakup?

"Marshall, Abigail," Mary greeted. "Come in, sit down and close the door."

Once we are seated, side by side across from her, she sighs. "I know you've had your differences lately, but you two can resolve them. Much as I hate to say it, you are the perfect couple. You make each other happy. I've never seen Doofus," she coughs when Abigail bristles at the nickname. "I've never seen Marshall smile as much as he has since met you." She nods toward Abigail. "You have a dog - together. You live together and you've been planning this wedding- together- for months. You are here tonight to sort things out so you can get on with the wedding and the rest of your lives. Together."

I cross my arms over my chest silently contesting her last statement. What does Mary think she's doing? This is the same tone she takes with recalcitrant witnesses.

"Marshall, you are the perfect marshal, the perfect man. You'll make a perfect husband. You work at your relationships. You want a family. You have Abigail." Turning to Abigail she continues."You are perfect for Marshall. You are young, perky and smart. You understand the job. You want a family and you are know enough to want Marshall."

I was reeling from the accolades my permanently pessimistic partner had just ascribed to me and my ex-fiancée. I snort in disbelief. If she thinks so highly of us she hides it damn well.

I glare at Mary, then Abigail. "Why are you here Abigail? Did Mary put you up to this?"

Abigail looks away. "Not exactly." She doesn't sound happy to be here. "After our fight I called Mary to see if you had run to your 'best friend.'" She says best friend like an epithet. "Mary convinced me to give you, to give us another chance."

"Are you ready to do that?" Has she changed her mind about Martin? My heart hammers with hope.

"Yes, I'm ready. Can we talk?" I notice her hands clasping and unclasping nervously. I can't recall ever seeing her like this. Has she finally realized how wrong she's been?

I take her hands in mine. "Of course we can." At the other end of the table Mary is looking at me with a thin smile that doesn't reach her eyes. She's determined to fix this, to fix us.

"So . . . ." I couldn't take the silence any longer.

Abigail begins earnestly. "Marshall, I want to marry you. I love you honey britches." I can't miss Mary's wince at her syrupy sweet term of affection.

I stare long and hard at Abigail and try to read her eyes, they are her most expressive feature; she couldn't really hide much from me. I see doubt clouding them. Doubt about Martin? Or doubt about us? Does it matter?

"Does that mean you're ready to be the mother Martin needs?" That's my main concern. If I can see honesty in your eyes, we have a chance to work this out. This could be a bump on the way to our happy future.

Instead I see uncertainty. She's uncomfortable; she's biting her lip and finally she shakes her head.

"Honey, sweetheart, I love you," she implores. "We don't have to figure everything out right this second. I'm sure the adoptive parents will give you visitation rights."

That's it? That's all she has to offer? Why the hell did she bother coming? I hear Mary's chair scrape as she gets up and moves around the table toward us.

I push my chair away from Abigail. "Martin is **my** son and I won't let him be adopted by strangers. He's family. He's my blood. How can I abandon my child, the son I've always wanted? How can you profess your love for me and refuse my son?"

Mary can hear the agitation and downright anger in my reply. "Okay guys, you've gotten out of the box here. Marshall, sit down. Abigail, you told me you wanted Marshall here because you believe you guys can still mend this relationship. You promised to consider having Martin in your lives."

Abigail is angry at the interruption. "When did you get a degree in marriage counseling? Visitation would allow Martin in our lives." she snipes. When did Mary turn into me? I'm the voice of hope. She's my cynical, skeptical ex-partner.

I see her signature smirk, but it doesn't reach her eyes. God those eyes, they have haunted me day and night and now they're asking me to trust her and try to work things out with my fiancee.

I turn back to Abigail and I can tell by her frown that she doesn't approve of our unspoken exchange. "What exactly are we trying to figure out here? I'm not giving up my son. So, unless you have something else to say, I don't think there's any reason to continue."

"Damn it Marshall! Why is it so damn easy to toss me aside for anyone else in your life? At the first sign of trouble in our relationship you go running to Mary. You'll listen to her before you'll listen to me. Martin comes before me. Who's next in line? Norah?"

I see Mary's hackles rise at the mention of Norah. Damn it, WWIII is about to start and I don't know if I'll be able to stop it. "That's not true. You were the first one I told about Martin. I talked to my mother next. I called Mary after you met Martin. I did not go 'running' to her."

Mary is upset that Abigail makes Norah part of her accusation. "Abigail," Mary growls. "Don't! Leave my daughter out of this."

Before Mary can escalate the exchange I remind Abigail. "This is not about Mary's daughter. It's about you not wanting Martin in our lives. Why can't you just accept him? We can be good together. We can be a family." I'm begging, and I don't care. My pride isn't important if I can get Abigail to accept Martin.

Mary frowns at me but addresses both of us, resuming her serious tone. "This is about your life together and the role Martin will have. You make Marshall happy Abigail, and you and Martin will only make him happier. Isn't that what matters?" I am so proud of the way she set her feelings aside and makes us focus on the issue. Facing Abigail she asks, "Can't you consider adopting Martin? Why not give him a chance?"

"Because he's a special needs child!" she exclaims. "I don't have the time to deal with his disability."

"My son is NOT special needs!" I retort. How could the woman be so oblivious to the truth?

"Marshall!" Mary calls me on my interruption.

I turn to Mary and shake my head brusquely, "Don't Marshall me. She doesn't know anything about my son!"

Mary continues to try and negotiate. "Abigail, why do you think he's special needs? Have you seen . . . something?"

Since Norah Mary has mellowed. Her people fixer drive is as strong as ever but she's less abrasive. She is determined to mend things between us. I've seen Mary act this way with witnesses, but never with me. It's different being on the receiving end. I barely recognize her.

Abigail hurls her reasons quickly, her voice escalating. "It's just…I've seen kids like him. They don't do well in school. They don't interact with other kids. They're very aggressive. If we had children of our own, he could hurt them."

I can't stand this. I can't believe she thinks a child of mine could hurt anyone, let alone his brothers or sisters. She's so full of shit. My chair scrapes loudly as I leap up, glowering down at Abigail.

"One half hour with him and you're an expert?" I shout. "My son wouldn't hurt his siblings. I never hurt my brothers. We will raise him to love them."

Abigail stands nose to nose with me. "How do you know? Children with his condition…" Abigail rattles on.

"Martin doesn't have a 'condition.'" I shout.

Calming down and changing gears I turn to Mary and ask, "How did Martin act when you met him?"

Abigail moves away from me, crosses her arms and accuses me angrily. "So, you did drag your partner into this. You shouldn't have done that." She focuses her wrath on Mary. "When did you see Martin?"

I interject, "That's not the issue here. I needed to see how Martin acts with another woman, a woman he hadn't met. I called Mary and she came."

Mary tries to smooth things over. "In my experience, I don't…"

Abigail is having none of it. "Of course, he's your best-friend and you won't tell him the truth if it will hurt him. Really, would you trust Martin around Norah?"

I see Mary chafe at the question and the mention of Norah. She slams the conference table and glares at Abigail.

"My daughter is not the issue. But to answer your question - yes I do. I did."

Abigail looks incredulous. "You, Mary Shannon, who has barely ever allowed me, a responsible adult, to hold Norah put her in the same room as Martin? When did you see him? What did he do?"

Mary thinks about it for a moment. She doesn't want Norah involved and hasn't ever shared anything personal with Abigail. She sighs and decides to help me out. "Sunday. Marshall asked me to meet him and introduced Norah and I to Martin."

Abigail glares at Mary, "What kind of mother are you? Bringing your child into a dangerous situation?"

Mary's hackles rise but I reply before she gets a chance.

I return Abigail's glare and double it. "There was no danger." I enunciate each word slowly. "I was there. Dana was there. Her nurse was there. I needed a second opinion. Martin had been fine with me. He was sweet with Norah and Mary. He gets along with the nurse. You, you Abigail," I point at her, "are the disrupting factor."

Abigail is astounded by my accusation. "You mean Martin is only autistic when I'm there?"

"First of all, he is not autistic. And yes, it appears that he acts out when you are there," I respond.

Abigail turns away from me and huffs. "I know what I saw, Marshall."

Mary tries to bring some facts into this heated discussion. "Wait. Abigail, when I saw him he was a normal little boy. He 'read' Norah one of his books and showed her his toys. He even kissed her goodbye."

"Figures," Abigail rolls her eyes, looks down and snorts in disgust.

"What?" Mary asks, keeping a lid on her anger.

"Mann men are attracted to Shannon women. Like moths to a flame. Hell, even Seth likes you." She mutters crossing her arms. Disgust mars her pretty face.

Mary's eyebrows rise at that last revelation. She doesn't ask for elaboration. God knows it's true. Instead she brings the focus back to Martin. "So, you mean not only am I a bad mother, I'm lying about Martin?"

"Marshall is your best friend. You'd bend the truth for him," Abigail asserts.

Mary knows Abigail is important to me. I can see her reining in her wrath.

"Abigail, no matter what you think of me, I'm not making this up. Martin was gentle with Norah. He was polite to me. It's the truth."

Abigail faces Mary. "So now you are saying it's just that Martin doesn't like me? He rocks like that because of me?"

I stand, inserting myself between the two women. "Abs, sweetheart." I've got to get her focus off Mary. "What Martin heard when we met him is that you would be replacing his mother. His _mother_." I emphasize. "Of course he reacted badly."

Abigail looks at me as if I had grown another head. "I know what I saw Marshall. That child is autistic."

"That child," Mary insists, "is grieving. He knows his mother is leaving him. When you told him you could do what his mother does, he freaked."

Abigail stares at me, her chest rising and falling quickly. I stare at the ceiling, thinking about what to say next. What could change her mind? Behind her I see a determined Mary, her eyes filled with concern and something else. She catches my eye and nods. She's done her bit. The rest is up to me, us, Abigail and I.

Neither Abigail nor I say a word. Mary looks at me then Abigail. She shrugs and throws up her hands. "You both know what needs to happen. You love one another. You _will_ settle this." I watch her back as she heads for the door throwing "I'll see you at the wedding" over her shoulder. She's sounds strong, positive, but I hear a tremor in her final command.

After the security gate closes Abigail turns her focus on me. "Marshall I understand, I do. If he was my child I'd fight to get him the help he needs. As his parent I wouldn't have a choice. But he's not my child, and I do have a choice. I choose to give him to the couple Dana has selected. They can devote the time it will take to get him functional in the world."

"But he is my child. He's **not** autistic and I am his father. I don't have a choice." Why can't she understand that? "You're not taking care of siblings here. You'd have the authority as well as the responsibility. Martin is only four. He'll barely remember Dana. He'll remember you. For all intents and purposes you will **_be_** his mother." I assure her.

Abigail hangs her head. "You do have a choice Marshall. Choose me, choose us. I don't want to be Martin's substitute mother. I want to be your wife." She puts her hands on my chest.

"Why can't you be a mother to Martin too?" I thought she wanted a family. Martin is family.

"I told you. I can't see myself raising another woman's child. I shouldn't have to, and I won't." Abigail is adamant. "Daddy said. . . . ."

"I thought you loved me," I interrupt. I don't care what her Daddy said. I'm not marrying him. Am I?

She sobs, "I thought you loved me, but I see that Martin, Mary and Norah are more important to you than I am. Honestly Marshall, did you ever love me?"

"What kind of a question is that? Of course I love you. I proposed at the shooting range, in public, in front of our peers. I want everyone to know how much I love you. I abandoned my best friend for you. I accepted your silly friends. I enjoy being with you. Isn't that proof enough?"

Abigail huffs at my opinion of her friends. "Don't get me wrong, your friends can be fun." I try to soften what I said.

"And where are your friends Marshall?"

She's got me there. I know a lot of people, classmates, dance partners, fellow hobbyists. They rank as acquaintances at best. "I only had one friend." I hope she notices the past tense. Mary and I aren't close anymore. "The job means never completely opening up to anyone. You know more about me than anyone. My brothers don't even know what I do."

"I know more about you than Mary? I doubt that." Abigail sniffs, her nasal passages clogged with tears.

"Abs, the secrecy is for your safety."

"Is that what you tell yourself Marshall? Or is it just an excuse for your lack of friends?"

She's given up attacking Mary but I don't relish being her target. Her last attack hurt. "No. It's an excuse to carry on with Mary behind your back," I taunt sarcastically. "Do you really think so little of me?"

Abigail bursts into tears. "I knew it. I knew it."

"Abs, I'm kidding. I only said that because I'm hurt and angry. You **know** me. I have never had a romantic relationship with Mary. Never. She's not interested. Believe me, I tried."

"So I'm the rebound girl? If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with? That's not good enough for me, Marshall."

"You know it's not like that."

"Do I?" she raises her tear stained face to mine. "I don't know anything about you Marshall, and I don't think I ever did."

She places the engagement ring in the palm of my hand and curls my fingers around it. "Good bye Marshall." I watch numb as she picks up her coat and walks out of my life. I collapse into the closest chair, close my eyes and try to hold back my tears.

* * *

A/N: This chapter couldn't have happened without Jojo78, my very own kick starter.


	10. Let's Talk

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 10 – Let's Talk

Marshal POV

Tuesday – WITSEC office

I give Mary the stink eye as I card myself into the office, late. If she thinks she's forgiven for bringing Abigail to kiss and make up, she's wrong. So much for her claim of fixing other peoples problems. If her witnesses knew how she screwed up her own life they'd think twice before following her advice.

I've been out of the office for four days and she and Delia had to pick up the slack. _Better get used to it Shannon_. Despite having slept at home, an empty home, I haven't done laundry in days. My hungover wrinkled appearance must be bad. My cynical cold-hearted former partner doesn't say a word.

Throughout the day I catch her watching me. I saw her pony tail jump when I barked at one of my nitwit witnesses who had dared to call _. You aren't the only one who can dispense tough love, Sunshine_. I was rerunning the argument with Abigail for the thousandth time and didn't notice when Delia plunked my favorite muffin on my desk. I had no reason to talk to Charlie and managed to keep under Stan's radar.

It was after 2 p.m. when Mary sauntered over to my desk. I glared at her while shoving the bag of toys I had bought on my way to work under my desk. She'd only tease me thinking they were my collectibles. I didn't feel like talking to her about Martin.

"I'm going to the deli." So, she is paying attention. She knows I haven't had lunch. The deli? She thought the name of the place, Hello Deli, was too cutesy but loved their dipped roast beef sandwiches enough to patronize the place. "Want me to pick up one of those disgusting veggie wraps for you?"

I peer out from under my sleep deprived lids. She knows the veggie wraps aren't my favorite. "Has hell frozen over? Mary Shannon is offering to buy a co-worker lunch?"

Mary shrugs and shifts her weight to her other foot mumbling, "I expect you'd pay me back."

"Expect what you want. I'm not hungry," I huff and turn back to pretending to work on the spread sheet open on my screen.

I ignore Mary when she returns, but when I get back from the restroom there is a Hello Deli bag on my desk. I sniff, decide it's not explosive, and identify a Double Deli – corn beef and pastrami. I knew Mary saw me put it in my desk drawer, but didn't care. We are just co-workers.

After what she did last night, I don't care what she thinks. I had a plan, damn it. I was going to wear Abigail down. I was going to Skype with Martin, showing her that he is just a little boy. I was going to beg, plead, do whatever it took to get Abigail to accept him.

But Mary's 'intervention' ruined it. She couldn't have sabotaged my engagement better if she tried.

After last night I deserve to slack off. Most days I do twice as much as any other Inspector. I fiddle with my computer, updating a few programs, but avoid any serious work. I observe Mary churning her way through a stack of reports. _Imagine that, Mary Shannon doing her own witness reports._ And checking Delia's as well. When did that start?

About damn time she started pulling her weight. If she really did all her own work she wouldn't have time to meddle in my life. She used to know me. She doesn't know Abigail. She never tried to get to know her. I used to think that was a good thing. Mary is volatile in the best of times. I didn't need her revealing embarrassing tidbits of my life to my fiancee. We begged her to let us watch Norah, but she would never accept our help. Hmm. I just realized that I haven't seen Abigail with children. Maybe it's not just Martin. Maybe she doesn't get along with kids, despite having siblings.

Nyah. That can't be true. I've seen photos of Abby with her nieces. Last Christmas she had a ball going to toy stores. It was nice to have company when I shopped for my nieces and nephews. She seemed tuned in to each of her nieces likes and dislikes. She must get along with them. Mary's the one I would expect not to get along with kids. She always said she never wanted children, and yet, there's Norah. I know she would die for Norah. Instead she's doing something scarier - living for her.

Finally the day drags to a close. I see Mary shut down her computer and I am relieved that soon have the office would be mine alone. Engrossed in an autism web site I don't notice her at my desk and startle like a wounded animal.

Clearing her throat, Mary asks, "Marshall? I know last night sucked. I'm sorry. Tell me what you need."

Swiveling away from my computer and glare. "That's a switch. For years I asked you what you need, but the one thing you never needed was me." I meet her concerned look with a Mary Shannon worthy disdain. "Why should I tell you? Because you interfered in my personal business? Because you brought my ex-fiancee to confront me? What could possibly go wrong with that plan?" I ask sarcastically. "Because forcing Abigail to confront the issue resulted in the end of our engagement? Was that what your were aiming for Sunshine? How's that working for you?"

Mary looked chagrined. "That's not what I intended. I'm truly sorry. Next time you talk to Abigail . . . . "

I lean back in my chair, reach into my pocket and hold up the engagement ring. The same one I had been pinned to paper target at Calibers shooting range. "Since nothing beyond a category 5 hurricane would dissuade you from your pursuit of the truth, the truth is Abigail and I have parted ways, permanently." Between clenched teeth I sneer, "There is no next time, no do over, no rewind. Abigail left."

I knew Mary imagined my life to be easy, with only teeny tiny 'difficulties,' like a missing sock. I had moved on and she had released me. Until last week I was content, happy, full of wedding plans, anticipating my new position and starting a family. I avoided gushing over my bride to be in front of my prickly sometime partner. Mary made it easier by simply avoiding me.

"What about the wedding?" she splutters.

"What wedding?" I snap. Mary, Mary, you don't have a clue about me. Never did..

She was still talking. "Your folks are coming," she hesitated. "I thought I saw the invitations on your desk. I didn't get one, but I didn't expect one."

Despite my anger, I wince. Mary really thought she wouldn't be invited to the wedding? Hell, if I had my way she would be my best man. But if I had my way I'd still be engaged.

I lean back examining the ceiling, swiveling my desk chair. "You did see them," I intone. "You didn't get one because they haven't been mailed. They were supposed to go out today."

She shrugged. "When you didn't give me one I figured you didn't want the office to know you had invited the witch of WITSEC to your wedding." I sigh. Mary would never understand etiquette. On the other hand, she avoided talking about the demise of my engagement, focusing instead on the delivery of wedding invitations.

"Oh c'mon," she objected. "I know last night didn't go well but you can fix it." She seems unable to accept the fact that Abigail and I are no longer engaged. I'm having trouble believing it. She was there last night. She knew Abigail and I have an irreconcilable difference named Martin. How can she think there will still be a wedding?

I stare past her. "I don't think so." I wave the engagement ring at her. I really can't understand Abigail's objections to raising Martin, but her mind is made up.

"Do your folks know?" Leave it to Mary to try and measure the severity of the problem by who I had informed. I had called my Mom, but she didn't need to know that. For months I had carefully rationed my dealings with Mary, but not just because Abigail had asked. I needed to keep my distance from the gravity well that is Mary Shannon. It was too easy to fall into. Mary presses her lips together. I hold up one finger, stopping her next hopeful diatribe.

She changes gears and sports a watery smile. "You look like you were rode hard and put away wet, partner." Partner? Since when? Who knew Mary could fake sincerity? I'm angry and I don't care

"You're still working on getting back together, right?" I shake my head. Abigail isn't going to change her mind. I wish she just needed time. "C'mon," Mary urges, "let's get out of here. This calls for a lot of lubrication and conversation."

I thought about refusing, but where else did I have to go? An empty house? Abigail was at her folks. Stan had been gone all afternoon. Good thing Delia won't see us leave together. Water cooler didn't need any more gossip fodder. My behavior today had given her plenty.

Dwelling on the past weekend's events, I don't remember leaving the office. In the parking structure I hear Mary's minivan chirp and see Mary, looking over her shoulder frustrated with my slow pace. "Get in," she orders.

I wonder sourly if she plans on punishing my dawdling with her driving. But it is her car. and I'm up for drinking not driving. I slump in the passenger seat."So bossy," I grouse halfheartedly. "Some things never change." I shove aside a discarded juice box and smile at a single tiny pink sock sticking out of the center console. "What about Norah?"

Pulling out of the Sunshine Building garage, Mary gives me an appraising look. "Jinx has her." How long had she been planning this intervention? "She's thrilled to have an entire evening with her granddaughter." Mary snorts. "Not that there's much to the evening since Norah is in bed by 7."

I squirrel away this Norah factoid. Mary doesn't talk about Norah – not to me. After she 'released' me she hadn't shared any of her life off the job. I wonder if Norah has the same voracious appetite, the same passionate intensity as her mother. I miss Norah. I miss my best friend. Watching for a break in the traffic, a genuine smile graces her face. She must be thinking of Norah.


	11. Talk the Talk

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 11 – Talk the Talk

Marshall POV

Mary found a bar that was dark and quiet. No loud music, no boisterous joshing, a place for serious drinking and serious talk. My eyebrows climb to my hairline when she tosses her credit card at the bartender and demands a bottle of whiskey. Mary might not be the picture of femininity but she always insists that since she's the girl, the man pays. Finding a quiet booth at the rear of the bar, Mary thumps the bottle down and slides in. "Sit," It's a command and I obey, sliding onto the bench across from her.

I have nothing to say as Mary pour three fingers into each shot glass. I catch the one she shoves across the table. She picks up hers and clinks it to mine. No toast, no salute, no down the hatch. What is a proper toast for the end of an engagement? We drink. She pours me another double, and waits while I toss it back too.

Mary puts her elbows on the table, and studies me. Her blonde hair falls forward but doesn't cover her expression of concern. "What are we drinking to?" How about the end of my chance for happiness? It will take more than whiskey to fix this. I can tell she's trying.

I down the refill and pour another. Patience isn't Mary's strong suit, but Norah has changed her in unexpected ways. She sips slowly, watching. Our friendship must still mean something. If we're going to talk, I'd better start.

"Remember that time we talked about rom coms. How the two leads are total opposites but secretly love one another and are meant to be together?" I had brought popcorn and watched two of our witnesses, who fell in love as teens but had spent their adult lives apart. I was happily watched their romantic reunion. They boarded the same plane to their new lives, together, all courtesy of the Marshal Service and Mary. It was all her idea and she made it happen.

"The Albanians and the accountant? Yeah, I remember. You accused me of playing Cupid." Her mouth puckers in disgust. Romance has no place in Mary's world. No one knew that better than me.

"I did, didn't I?" I couldn't hide my stupid grin. My facial muscles crease reluctantly since I hadn't smiled in days. "That was straight out of the rom com play book," I inform her gleefully. Mary glares taking my statement as an accusation. Mary could solve anyone's relationship snags but her own, and now mine.

"One of the stupidest things you ever said," she grouses and shakes her head.

I wave my hand dismissively. "I never believed opposites attract. It's a movie cliché, but in real life, pfft."

Mary thumps her half empty glass on the table. "You didn't? Really? You could've fooled me. Haven't you watched every rom com ever made?"

I sip and swallow and shake my head, the rawness of the whiskey stealing my words. "That's why I was attracted to Abigail. We were, are, two optimists confronted daily with the worst of humanity and yet we retain our faith that there is good in everyone." I drop my head, tilting the empty shot glass. "Now I know that's why it couldn't work."

I looked up to see that Mary is actually listening with a confused frown. That's a first. "I don't follow, Shakespeare. If you don't think opposites make a good relationship, and two similar people don't make a good relationship, what's left?"

"Shakespeare?" That's one of the nicest names she ever called me.

She does that smirk and single shoulder shrug I used to think was cute. "Romeo and what Julie et."

Her weak humor is easy to ignore. "Maybe my initial hypothesis is wrong. Maybe opposites do make the best relationship. One person's weakness is another's strength. Together they're strong." I mourn the fact that Mary never made the leap, never saw that she and I are opposites.

Thinking about Mary makes my head too heavy for my neck. I see Mary rise out of her seat, leaning toward me. She's probably afraid I'm going to hurl or hit my head on the table. "I'm okay." I sit up straight, well straighter. "I'm fine. I'll be better after a few more."

Mary looks doubtful, but doesn't stop me when I refill our glasses. "I get that you and Abigail were Mr. and Mrs. Merry. So now you're saying **that's** why it didn't work?"

"Yes, yes." I proclaim earnestly, leaning across the table. "We have the same strengths. We have the same weaknesses. That made us weaker. We didn't complement each other. We were..." My mind wanders to last Thursday. "I tried, Mare. I tried to be the best boyfriend, fiancé, lover." I pause and drink. "That was the problem, I had to try. I had to match her enthusiasm even when I was tired. I had to be the **me** she loved. When we moved in together, I didn't get any down time. No time to just be me. I had to avoid you at work. At home I had to be affectionate, cheerful, and confident even when I didn't feel it."

Mary shakes her head and decides to call me on my bullshit. "I don't believe it."

"Believe what?"

"You didn't break up because you and Abigail are too much alike. You weren't just trying Marshall, you really were happy. Both of you. God when you came to my door in matching Santa hats I nearly puked. So much good cheer! It's unnatural," she complained. "Martin is the reason Abigail left."

That's my girl. Calling a spade a spade even when I can't. I draw in a breath slowly while facts, thoughts and impressions roil in my memory. How can I explain Abigail's adamant refusal to accept Martin?

"Abigail told me that she practically raised her siblings. Her parents left her in charge a lot. When she tried to get her sisters to abide by the rules her parents set, the girls would refuse. Their folks would side with the younger kids. She had to play by the rules but her siblings didn't. She's gun shy, afraid things would be the same with Martin."

Leaning across the table I try to convince Mary, as I had failed to convince Abigail. "I told her it wouldn't be like that. As Martin's step mother she'd have the authority and I would stand with her, always. That's what hurts the most. After all I did to prove my love, she doesn't believe me. She doesn't trust me."

Damn it. Is that wetness on my cheek tears? Mary has plenty of practice with weeping drunks. I lay my head on the table, hiding my face in my arms. I'm weak and disgusting. My hands are suddenly warm as she covers them with her own.

"Marshall." Her voice is soft but reflects my pain. "I'm so sorry. You deserve to be happy. You deserve it all - kids, wife, recognition of the wonderful man, the accomplished marshal you are. I'm sorry." She pauses and I lift my head till we are eye to eye. "I believe you. I trust you. I always have. You're the only one I believe."

I see the truthful caring in her face. I slump back against the booth. "She didn't." I run my hand through my hair. If anyone could appreciate how childhood events could mark you for life, it was Mary. "Maybe it's for the best. If she couldn't trust me on this, she doesn't trust me. For God's sake she thought I was having an affair!"

I follow that revelation with another shot. Mary held her drink in front of her eyes, rotating the glass. Thinking. For once I had no idea what she was thinking.

"Maybe you're right." Oh my God, hell has frozen over. "Wait, let me turn on the recorder. That's the only way I'll ever hear you say that again."

Mary snickers, and holds her glass close. "Not about the affair part, the Abigail part. You're often right Doofus. I just don't admit it."

She took a sip. "I always thought being with someone who loved me would be easy. I could just be myself and it would be okay, y'know? Raph never loved me warts and all. You never tried to change me."

As if anyone could change Mary. My emotions are still churning and I lash out. "Did you think calling me names all these years- girl, Miss Priss, douche, jackass - did you think that made me feel **comfortable**? Why would that make me think you like **me** for who I am?" Over the years I had come to understand that Doofus was a token of affection. Her other disparaging names wore thin after a while.

"Probably not." She drops her gaze. Is that regret I hear? "I've called others worse. For God's sake Marshall. You're a fifth generation marshal. You know that computer mumbo jumbo. You can dance the mambo and shoot with a bullet in your chest. I can never measure up to you. Calling you names was my way of dragging you down to my level."

Really? I'd never be at Mary's level. She's passion personified. She's the flame I've been drawn to since the day we met. That and her quick thinking, accurate shooting and uncanny witness handling. Her womanly attributes were burned into my retinas for all time. And she just wants to be one of the guys? Not gonna happen Sunshine.

She pauses and takes a sip, grimacing as it slides down her throat. "Most people we deal with are ass wipes. The Fugitive Task Force isn't known for sensitivity. I thought marshals were supposed to be like that. Then I met you." She shrugs. "You didn't fit the image."

I nod. "You had the wrong image." She downs the remains of her shot and coughs, nodding her agreement.

We share a few moments of silence. My thoughts return to Abigail, another failure on my lifetime scorecard. I murmur, "Martin was the last straw." I ignore her confusion. "Our jobs, the necessary secrecy, make it difficult to build trust," I feel like I'm in that goddamn training video. "Abigail has a pretty good idea of what I do. . . ."

Mary snorts and interrupts, "Of course she does. She told me herself."

I'm not surprised. She had me figured out pretty early in the game. "But she couldn't know the whole of it. She underestimated the danger, and she underestimated me." I take a deep breath and huff indignantly. "She accused me of cheating on her." That stung.

"So do you think she's cheating on you? You said you two are alike." Leave it to Mary to turn my admission against me.

"No." I'm exasperated. Why doesn't Mary get it? Or am I the one who doesn't get it? "Never."

Mary stares at me. "She thought you could be unfaithful? What a load of crap. You would never do that. Who did she think you had time to romance on the side? Work and the wedding have had you jammed up for months. Who were you supposed to be doing the beast with two backs?" It's kind of sweet to see her so angry on my behalf. "Don't tell me you called that airline steward." She narrows her eyes and smirks referring to a long ago flight where she was amused by the man's interest in me. I remember feeling vindicated, despite the teasing. Finally she got a taste of how I felt when men hit on her.

I stare and point my shot glass in her direction. Mary's eyes open wide, she leans forward and points to her chest. "Me? Is she insane? When would we have time? I have Norah. It's been a year since we've gone out of town on a witness transfer. That's just," she splutters, "nuts!"

Wait! Her only objection to having sex with me is the lack of time?

Mary shakes her head and acknowledges, "You were. . . I couldn't have handled my father and that whole mess without you. But then you asked me to release you." She shook her empty glass at me. "I've released you and haven't called."

"Yes, you released me! You released me right out of your life, yours and Norah's. I don't know anything about Norah and damn little about you. Do you have a new cowboy? What about Mark? Has Norah started to talk?" I shake my head sorrowfully. Mary of the selective memory.

"I also said that if you called I would come, **every** time. You conveniently forgot that part." I toss back another shot. The liquid courage soothes and rasps my throat simultaneously. "But you never called, hell, you never even talk to me. It took getting dumped by my fiancée for you to talk to me."

"Idiot," Mary retorts, glaring at me. "Released means I don't call. **Ever**." The glass in her fist pounds the table.

I must be drunker than I realize because I think I hear her pain. She had released me. But did that mean Norah released her Uncle Marshall? Mary gets a faraway look, and the almost smile she has when talking about Norah. "You want to hear about Norah? You just saw her Sunday."

"She sat in your lap the whole time. What is she eating? She must be crawling. Does she stand?" I feel like the banished psuedo-parent, finally slaking the thirst for information about the child.

She graces me with a few crumbs. "Norah's started eating people food. She's been crawling. I've had to disinfect the floors." She grimaces. "She can pull herself up." She must be recalling some poignant mother daughter moment. I am treated to a real Mary smile, one that reaches her eyes. Or maybe it's the whiskey. I'm chagrined that a little girl could do what I couldn't - make her happy. Another failure for me.

Snapping back to the present, she bangs her empty glass on the table. "We're here to talk about you, not Norah. You're welcome to see her anytime, y'know. Just let me know so I can make sure she's not at Mark's."

"Mark's still in the picture?" How did I miss that?

Mary nodded. "Yeah, sort of." Mary made another try at redirecting the conversation.

"So the cheerleader thought we were doing the horizontal mambo? Why? We were always just partners. I've never come on to you, and you've kept your distance since you and Abigail started dating." She sniffs, shifts her eyes and examines the glass in her hand. "Even before that."

I shrug, drink, then reply, "I don't know. You'd have to ask her. When I told her about Martin and Dana it added fuel to her imaginary fire of my unfaithfulness."

Mary rolls her eyes. "So, Dana?" she asks. "What did Abigail think about Dana?"

I ignore the question. That's the past. And by the past I mean both Abigail and Dana. I don't know what Abigail thought about Dana. She never mentioned her. I pour another shot. When I gesture with the bottle Mary puts her hand over her glass.

"Dana looks awful. When we were digging Chris Worley out of that illegal betting mess she was a lively bundle of sex disguised as a teacher. If she'd been a dog her tail would be wagging nonstop. But if Dana is dying. . . ?"

Ignoring her last question. "I told you, ovarian cancer. Stage 4." At Mary's questioning look I explain. "Its meta.. metast. . . . " I must be drunker than I thought, I have to downshift from medical terms to Mary speak. "It's spread to other organs. She came to see me to," I pause, "to. . . I guess, to tie up loose ends."

"God, Marshall. That sucks." I am thinking of those we had lost, and were about to lose.

"When Mia died," she exhales slowly. "I lost a friend. I don't have many friends. She was strong, opinionated, and despite her criminal family had a keen sense of justice. She could have just let it go, but she wanted better for Robin who isn't even her daughter."

I wonder if Mary ever saw that despite her felonious father Mary has the same dedication to justice, the same fierce need to protect Norah.

"I knew I could take her advice." She looks at her empty glass then adds, "Just like with you."

I cough at the sharpness of the whiskey and what Mary had admitted. Mary never took my advice. Did she? Certainly not when it came to men.

One more whiskey. "How am I going to be a father to Martin when he just met me?"

Mary grimaces. "It's going to be tough, explaining his mother's death. But he'll love you in no time. Everyone does."

Is that affection I see in her eyes? The liquor is affecting my hearing. Everyone loves me? Since when?

"Whenever I have to cover your witnesses they are so disappointed. The women go on and on. 'Marshall is so strong. He's so polite. He's so. . ." she sing songs then shudders as she says "cute.' They are all besotted with you. Grannies to girls, they all love you Marshall."

Besotted? My vocabulary has infested hers. I don't want to talk about it. I don't know how to take her version of praise. "What do you think of Martin?"

"I could tell he was yours as soon as I saw him." She smiles as if that's a good thing.

"How?"

Mary puts her glass down and pours us both another double, well maybe a triple.

"You gotta be kidding." She looks at me and determines I'm serious. "Damn, Marshall." Elbows on the table she leans across and peers into my eyes. "He looks just like you. His eyes, the shape of his face, his books. I could see the resemblance right away." I never knew hers were so green. And tonight sort of watery. "You'll be a wonderful father. How could you not be? You're . . . . Marshall."

She says my name as if it were a category, a species. So I'm a paragon of virtues, huh? Fat lot of good that did me where she's concerned. All that did was make her think I was too good for her. We spend the next few moments in silence. I focus on calculating the flow of liquor drops down the side of the shot glass using an extrapolation of a fluid dynamic equation. Avoiding reality at all costs.

Mary interrupts my mathematical wanderings. "So, you want him and Abigail doesn't." Mary understands fathers and sons are the natural order of things. Why couldn't Abigail see it?

"That sums it up," I shake my head sadly. My pompadour had lost its pomp and was hanging in my eyes, blurring my vision. "Dana just wanted me to know. She asked me to put my name to his birth certificate. She has a couple ready to adopt him."

"Adoption?" Her tone is sharp. Mary had gone down that road and not taken it. "But he's your son, right?"

I nod. "Abigail doesn't want to believe he's mine. I'm having a DNA tested, but Mare," my confession combines despair and hope, "you saw him, you know." I was embarrassed to hear my voice rise to a reedy squeak. "He's three. Three years old." I'm repeating myself. Hell, we both had enough whiskey that we could use an instant replay. I reach into my jacket pocket, missing it the first two times. Finally the photo is in my hand. I put it on the table where Mary can see it.

"This is me at three."

"Martin. . . ." I fumble for my phone finding the picture I want and shove it toward Mary. It shows a young boy wearing a cowboy hat and boots. Just like the photo of me. Only this one was taken last week.

Mary held the phone next to the photo. I saw her sneak a look at the text message I had sent my mother. "Like two peas in a pod," she agrees.

"Even my mom thought that was me. I tried to use this to prove to Abigail, to show her that Martin is mine but she doesn't want to see. She made up her mind when Martin freaked out." I palm my face, smacking my forehead. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. It was my fault." I sunk down.

"What were you thinking?" Mary asked sincerely, no judgement.

I look up from the table, bleary eyed. "I wasn't. Isn't that obvious? I messed up Mare." Don't whine, Marshall. Don't whine. You don't need her pity.

I sit up, hold my head up high and look straight at her. "If you can be a single parent and a marshal, so can I," I declare, thumping my glass on the table. "He's **my** son and I'm going to raise him."

"Jesus Marshall. Don't look to me as some kind of cockamamie role model. I'm not the poster girl for single parenthood. At least as Chief you'll have some control over your schedule."

"Don't count on it."

"Why? What do you mean?"

"Abigail thinks I won't be promoted because of Martin." I was studying the label on the whiskey bottle, and didn't see her reaction.

"That's nuts. Other chiefs have families. How is this different?"

I've been worrying about this for days, ever since Abigail raised the specter of 'impropriety' axing my promotion. "Because it's so sudden? The committee didn't know I had a child when they evaluated me."

"Hell Marshall. You didn't know. How could they?" If Mary could make my case to the promotion board it would be a done deal.

"Is Abigail going to tell the Marshal Service?" Mary asks, leaning against the back of the booth.

"I don't know. I'll have to tell Stan soon." I'm not looking forward to that conversation.

"Abigail's full of shit. You have an outstanding record as a marshal. Who else could bring the skills you have to the job? You'll be Chief. Just wait and see. Abigail probably would have forgiven you for cheating. That's an single event. Raising a love child is an 18 year commitment. If you're lucky, and they don't return to the nest till they're 30."

I nod in agreement. "She said she 'didn't sign up for this.' She told me to choose - her or my son." My eyes are wells of pain as I croak, "but he's my son. I can't abandon him. He has family. He has me."

"Oh Marshall," Mary sighs. "I have a soft spot for fathers who don't abandon their kids." Was I actually going to be a single parent? It was difficult enough when you had nine months and hormones to help, but being thrown into the deep end with a toddler? That's trouble.

"Raising Martin is a lot to take on Marshall, even for you. And then Dana's death? The kid is going to be . . . . " Then she mutters softly, "Thank God that's one complication Norah doesn't have to deal with."

"I know Dana has talked to him and had the psychologist at the hospital talk to him. I have no idea if he realizes she'll be gone forever." I draw in a shaky breath. "That's why I have to be there for him."

"Why do you think this will work?" That's my partner, ever the pessimist. She wants to be sure I have considered all facets, just as I do when planning a witness transfer or court room appearance.

I talk to the shot glass. "Because," I say, my enunciation starting to slur, "I have you."

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Fangirls (and boys) will recall Trevor, (Sea. 2 Ep.3, A Stand Up Triple.) Trevor used the same words to Mary. Thanks to everyone who is following this story. I'd love to know what you think.


	12. Hangover

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 12 – Hangover

Wednesday

When I peel my eyes open my pants are the first thing I see. I always hang up my clothes, so I didn't drape them over the chair. The chair that's in the bedroom I shared with Abigail. My head throbs so I close my eyes. I'm dreaming. I see Mary's face, but she is smiling. Mary seldom smiles, not this contented relaxed version. Sated. The word floats in front of her beautiful face, mocking me. Her hair is splayed over a pillow, a blonde halo. I groan. This is a first. I've dreamed of Mary many times, but I've never hallucinated. Hallucination, vision, whatever. I'm too awake for it to be a dream.

Eyes still closed, I try to remember what happened last night. I remember Mary putting her arm around my waist when we left the bar. I felt safe with her warm capable hand holding me tight. Did we leave after I told her I was going to raise Martin? Was she sober enough to drive? Then what? Last night's clothes are on the floor in a smelly heap. I roll over and sniff. The acrid scent of vomitus. Great. Why don't I remember getting undressed? There's a glass of water and bottle of aspirin on the nightstand. I down the aspirin and drink the water. Maybe a shower will clear my mind. After a quick wash I feel better but don't recall anything more about last night. I have to scrounge to find a shirt clean enough in the pile of dirty laundry.

I arrive intact at the Sunshine building because the route and driving reflexes are muscle memory. My usual spot on the top floor of the parking garage is flooded with too bright sunlight. I wince and check. I am wearing sunglasses. I walk slowly to the elevator. This is not a morning for stairs. Moving quickly makes my brain feel as if it is being bisected with a scalpel. Squinting as I enter the office, I see Mary. We need to talk but I need to be fortified with caffeine. What else happened last night? What don't I remember?

I pour a cup of coffee into my dark blue Marshal mug and gingerly ease into my desk chair and start up my computer. Delia and her muffins are headed for the opposite end of the office. Good. I don't feel like playing 20 questions. Especially since I can't remember the answers. My partner, former-partner, whatever, is standing at her desk, stuffing files into her messenger bag. "Going somewhere Sunshine?" I croak. Unburdening myself to Mary last night had been cathartic. Despite the hangover I feel renewed, hopeful. I'm looking forward to having Martin in my life.

I observe Mary, trying to get a read on her mood. How is she reacting to last night? She looks remarkably together considering how much we drank. Thinking back, I realize she didn't try to keep up with me. She has yet to look my way and continues burrowing in her bag. She does deign to bark, "Emergency witness transfer. Stan just gave me my marching orders. The witness asked for me." She looks over her shoulder at me with her ironic half smile and snorts. "Go figure."

My head jerks up and the pain is immediate. "Asked for you? By name? Do we have a breach?" It wouldn't be the first time Mary revealed her occupation. If a witness knows who Mary is, what she does . . . . Before I can take that thought further Mary interrupts. She had seen me wince and heard me groan. Her expression and tone soften.

"Relax Doofus." She strolls over to my desk, giving me the once over. "She doesn't know I'm WITSEC. It's Mia's niece, Robin. She's decided to do what Mia couldn't - testify against the murdering scum that is her family. Seems Mia's courage is genetic or contagious or something." She shakes her head.

She's close now, at my chair. Her hand raises as if to touch my shoulder but retreats before touch down. What the hell happened last night to have Mary walking on egg shells? A punch to the bicep would be normal. A hesitant attempt at reassurance? Not normal at all.

"I met Robin when I took Mia home. All she knows is that Mia trusted me and I'm some sort of law enforcement." My brain catches and starts. It takes a minute, but I understand what she has said. Mary did what I had done with the old mobster, Tancredi. No breach.

She ducks her head. "I'm sorry Marshall. I have to go." Her hand is next to mine on the desk.

"Wait." I start shutting down my computer, l have the key out to lock my desk. She can't leave without her partner. No matter how I'm feeling, I don't trust anyone else to watch her back.

"Marshall, I know we need to talk, but Stan assigned Dawson. I've got to get used to working with other partners some time. Stan figured I could start now." She ducks her head. "You should talk to someone. There's got to be someone better than me."

Does she mean I should talk to Shelley? Or that there is someone better for me than her? I'm missing something. Last night we talked about Abigail and Martin, and what else? I'm about as sharp as a marble this morning so I let her comment slide. She returns to her desk, puts on her jacket and picks up her bag. My eyes follow her to the door. "Bye Mare. Be safe."

"As safe as I can be, without . . . . " She shrugs and her hand flaps in my direction. Awe. The warm feeling from her compliment fades as it occurs to me I might still be hallucinating. Or, maybe that's her hangover talking? I will miss her but a few days without Mary around could be good. It's difficult to be sure any decision I make with Mary present is my own. On the other hand, she's the only one, besides my Mom, who knows about Martin. I'm not ready to share with anyone else; especially after that smack down from Abigail.

I can't help thinking of Martin and Dana. I had called Dana before leaving the house. She and Martin had made it home safe and sound. We talked and I extolled the virtues of Albuquerque. She listened, but didn't commit. Or maybe she was just tired. She needs to be here where I can make sure she is taken care of. Martin needs to be here so we can start easing into our new life together. She needs to know that being with me is what's best for him. I need to talk to Stan and arrange some time off.

While waiting for Stan to be free, I dial Dana's number. "Hello."

That's not Dana's voice. "Carolyn?" What does it mean that her nurse answered? "Hi, this is Marshall. Can I speak to Dana."

Oh God. Dana is unconscious. They are waiting for the paramedics. Carolyn answered the phone because she thought the doctor was calling.

I stand to finish locking up. "Tell Dana I will be there as soon as I can. Carolyn, tell her I'll take care of Martin. Please."

As soon as Stan puts the phone down, I'm at his door. His reading glasses are slipping down his nose. Stan invites me in, staying focused on one of the many documents piled on his desk. "Come in Marshall. And how is my successor doing this morning?"

Then he looks up and gapes. "What happened to you?" My wrinkled shirt and bleary eyes must have given me away.

Did I want to tell Stan about Dana and Martin now? Part of me did, but Abigail had raised the specter of my rescinded promotion. The less he knew, the better. Stan is the big picture guy. He doesn't need to be bogged down with the messy details of my life. Stan figures out more than Mary and I tell him, but plausible deniability works. No sense messing with success.

"Uh . . . . Last night was sort of a bachelor party." That was true. Mary and I had been 'celebrating,' my continuing bachelorhood. Sort of.

Stan fakes indignation. "And I wasn't invited? Shame on you!"

I apologize sheepishly. "Sorry Stan. It was impromptu. Think of it as being saved from a mid-week hangover." He produces a small concerned smile, and nods.

My elbows are on my knees and my hands together as I sit across from him. "I know this isn't a good time, with Mary out of the office, but I need some time off."

I wonder if Stan is going to ask me why. He already approved the two weeks for my honeymoon. The honeymoon that isn't happening.

Stan looks at me skeptically. "Is it a matter of life and death?"

I give it to him straight. "Actually it is. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't."

"You're serious?" Stan's skepticism morphs to concern.

"Yes."

"Do you want to tell me what this is all about?"

"It's a family matter Stan. If there was any way I could put it off, I would." Martin **is** family. And Dana can't wait.

"What about the two weeks for your honeymoon?"

I clear my throat and confess. "I won't need that. I need to take the time off now."

"Oh." Stan examines my bloodshot eyes.

Yeah. 'Oh.' It's a shit storm Stan but I don't have time to explain.

"Marshall, if you need the time, take it. I remember how to handle witnesses. Delia, Charlie and I can manage. How much time are we talking about?"

"A week? Maybe," I look up at him imploring. "two. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

"I know you wouldn't. Go." He flaps his hand shooing me out the door. "Keep me posted. I'll do the adjustment to your vacation." Stan still has that sixth sense about people he knows well. He understands more than the honeymoon has been cancelled. "If you need more than a week, call. Mary should be back by then."

"Thanks Stan. I'm sorry about the short notice. If you have any questions about my witnesses you can call Mary. She knows them almost as well as I do."

Stan looked me in the eye, with a tight smile. "Yeah, but they like you better. Get out of here. Do what you need to do."

I'm awed by Stan's trust. I doubt I will ever have a boss like him again. I just hope I can be half as good a Chief. Unless Abigail finds a way to block my promotion. I have no idea if she or her Daddy would go that far. Did I ever really know her?


	13. By the time I get to Phoenix

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

* * *

Sonn of Mann

Chapter 13 – By the time I get to Phoenix

Judicious use of my badge got me on the earliest flight to Phoenix. When I landed I was relieved to learn that Dana had merely become dehydrated. After an infusion of fluids she was sent home. By the time she and Carolyn returned I was there. Martin was at the next door neighbors. Carolyn and I went to get him and I was introduced to them as a friend who would be helping out. Over takeout dinner, Carolyn, Dana and I came up with a plan. The nurse would take care of Dana. I would take care of Martin. We'd take it a day at a time.

I talked to Dana about moving to Albuquerque. I knew some doctors and they recommended a few hospice sites. Carolyn had heard of a couple of them. When I wasn't playing with or caring for Martin I called them asking the questions that Carolyn and various patient web sites had suggested. By Tuesday night I found a place that was highly commended by patient families and doctors. Next step, convincing Dana.

With her parents dead, Dana didn't have any family left in Phoenix. She already had the house listed for sale. I convinced her it would be easier to show and sell the house if it was empty. I showed her that I could care for Martin. We went to the library for story time. We went to the playground. My days revolved around Martin. Feeding him, bathing him and getting him to sleep were required. Playing with him wasn't optional, it was the best part. Who knew a toddler could be so much fun? Or so much work? Mary thinks it will be easier when Norah gets a little older. Think again, Mare.

When he napped and Dana was awake, I continued to pitch Albuquerque as **the** place to live. Or in Dana's case, a good place to die. I told her I would be a good provider. I told her I had my family's support. I told her about watching Norah to show her I wasn't totally without experience. I know Mary will help. I'm not sure Dana bought it, but I did wear her down. By the end of the week, she agreed to move to Albuquerque but she still had reservations about leaving Martin with me. We decided to ask Martin once he'd had a few days with me in Albuquerque.

Sleeping in Dana's guest room caused the weirdest dreams. I've always had the occasional dream of Mary but now she is in all of them. When we were taking down the weapons dealer Mary had whipped open her dress to show she was unarmed. Later I assured her that I hadn't looked. I had turned away, but not before her lush curves were imprinted on my eyeballs. I could call it up any time I closed my eyes. In my dreams her soft curves were under me, her strong thighs gripping me. I could hear her whimper and sigh. It was torment worse than nightmares of her shooting. Once I'm home in by own bed _(Abigail's and my bed)_ they'll go away. I hope.

It's painful to remember being with Abigail in that bed. I'm relieved when my call to her goes to voicemail. I'm not ready to hear her voice but I need to know about the house. It's the best place for Dana and Martin, but not if she's still there. Her text message says she's packed her things and put them in the garage. Perfect. Well not perfect, but at least Dana, Martin and I have a place to stay. A place full of bittersweet memories I hope Martin will can replace or erase.

I packed the essentials for Dana and Martin into a rented Econovan. She had arranged to sell or dispose of the rest. She took most of Martin's toys, linens and clothes. She didn't need much for herself. I was glad that Dana slept through most of the drive. She's so tired. When we arrived at my place, Dana was exhausted and Martin was hungry, again. He needed to get out, run around. Despite Martin's whining I left them in the van while I checked the house. Abigail's clothes were gone. I stuffed her farewell note in my pocket feeling more relieved than sad. One door closes and another opens.

Unbuckled from his car seat Martin ran into the house, despite Dana's order to wait. I checked on Dana then followed him in, leaving her to gather her strength. Taking his hand I gave him a tour of the place, making a mental list of what needed child proofing. I showed him the room he and Dana would be using. We went back to the van. "Hey Martin," I asked squatting down to see his face. "Can you help me?" He nodded yes. I gave him his mom's bag to carry. "Dana, look at my helper!"

With Dana resting in the guest room I unload the rest if their things starting with the port a crib. Martin barely fits in it but it's familiar. A bed for him is on my shopping list. Once Martin had explored the house, saw his mother, his books and toys he relaxed. I made my macaroni and cheese, something Dana tolerated and Martin liked. Then it was nap time for both of them.

While they rested I called Mary and got her voicemail. _Damn it Mare, pissed or not you answer!_ I had been so busy taking care of Dana and Martin and getting ready for the move I hadn't called anyone, not even mom. After getting Mary's voice mail again I called Stan.

"Hey Stan. I'm back in town." Anxious to talk to Mary, I dive right in. "Mary isn't answering her phone. I'm hoping you know why."

Stan cleared his throat, and I swear I could hear his forehead furrow in the silence. I wasn't prepared for his hostile greeting. "Where the hell were you? It's been a week. Why didn't you check in?"

Now I was annoyed. He knew it was a family emergency. "In case you forgot, Stan, I'm officially on vacation, an emergency vacation."

"But you **always** check in," Stan grumped. "You of all people know better."

"Yes, usually I do, this time I didn't. What's the big deal?" I try to keep the irritation out of my reply.

Stan's voice got lower. "The big deal is that Mary's witness transfer went pear shaped."

That's because I didn't plan it. But Mary's learned enough from me to have back up plans. Then it hits me, Stan didn't mention Mary's condition. What is he not telling me? My mind leaps to the worst scenario. No. No. She can't be dead. He would have started with "I'm sorry ...the script we use for those who have lost loved ones. He would say 'I'm sorry for your loss.' Dana's dying and now Mary? No. No. She goes on a transfer without me and now?

Fear grips my throat. Finally I'm able to speak. "Where's Mary?" I can't ask him if she's dead. Saying it would make it true. It would mean that I'm missing in action when Mary needed me. Again.

He could hear the quaver in my voice and despite his anger took pity on me. "She's in the hospital in Denver."

"Hospital? How bad? What happened?" The thought of Mary injured had knocked my brain and mouth out of sync.

"She's going to be okay, eventually."Okay as in a scratch they are bandaging or okay after weeks in the hospital and months of rehab? I finally realize that the noise on the phone is Stan talking.

"According to Dawson, Mary saved him and the witness. He took a through and through to the shoulder. He's at Denver Medical waiting for her to wake up."

Stan must have thought that was enough. "When can you get there?"

Damn Dawson. He didn't watch her back. Small consolation that he was hurt too. I know Denver Medical has a level 4 trauma center. "How bad?" She can't die. She can't. She made me promise in that abandoned gas station and it goes both ways. She has to be okay.

"She's in surgery." Then how can he know she'll be okay?

"So this just happened?" I wheedle for more details. The transport shouldn't have taken that long.

"No. It went down four days ago. They just discovered an internal bleed and went back in to fix it."

"What happened?" Mary's fierce protecting a witness. It's my job to protect her.

"They were ambushed near the Kansas Colorado border. According to Dawson Mary shot out the tires and the gas tanks exploded. She called it in, but backup arrived after it went down. Mary sent Dawson with the paramedics. Not a scratch on the witness. Mary picked up another marshal and went on their way. They stopped outside of Denver. The witness discovered Mary had been shot."

"The **witness**? What in the hell was she doing driving?" I try to calm my pounding heart and breathe. Deep inhalation, deep exhalation.

Stan had to hear my distress. "Mary was wearing her vest. I'm told she was shot just below the vest on the right. When she sat, driving, the vest put pressure on the wound. According to Faber, Mary thought it was heartburn."

"Faber? What the hell was Faber doing there?"

"I called him," Stan assured me. "Someone had to check on her. You know how she is. She would have checked herself out AMA and bled to death on the drive home. Faber's in Denver. Mary's in Denver. I called."

"You called that fucking Feeb?" Faber! I was incensed that Stan would subject Mary to Faber when she's injured.

"Yes." Stan grated out the word. "Let me remind you Marshal, I wouldn't have had to call him if **you** had answered your goddamn phone." Ive never heard Stan so angry. I may be his successor but Mary is his professional daughter.

"Faber brought his wife and kid to the hospital. His FBI badge got them past the guards."

Guards? Mary is still in danger? Mary had told me the witness asked for her. Robin. Mia. Mia Cusato. Robin Cusato. The Cusato mob had plenty of hit men and connections far beyond their own city.

"He sent them out for snacks, and got Mary to spill her guts." Stan coughed. "So to speak. They think the pressure from the vest kept her from bleeding out. Once she stood up, the vest stopped pressing and she started bleeding."

Stan called Faber, and Faber brought his wife and kid? What the hell! Why would he bring his wife? So Mary wouldn't throw him out? Mary Shannon, we need to talk. Faber got to comfort her? In what universe is that appropriate? I have to keep my voice down. Martin and Dana need their rest.

"When are you leaving?" Stan is certain I will go.

I want to go. I want to be with my partner, but I can't leave Dana, or Martin.

"Stan, Stan, I can't. I've got a situation here and I can't leave. Tell Mary I'd be there if I could. Who is going from the office?"

"With both you and Mary gone, I can't spare anyone. And there's no sense sending a marshal she doesn't know." He's right. Mary doesn't need that kind of aggravation.

Shit. Fucking Faber! "I'm sorry Stan, but I just can't. Can I call her?" She had to be all right. I can tell how Mary is feeling by her voice. It's not as good as being there, but this time it will have to do.

"What is wrong with you Marshall? A phone call is not going to cut it. Your **partner** is seriously injured and you aren't willing to go see her? You weren't there when she woke up the first time. Faber said she told him you had 'finally wised up and learned to leave the Shannon women the hell alone.' She's hurt Marshall, and not just physically. I don't know what's going on with you two but she needs her partner." Stan was yelling, and I couldn't blame him. "You know she'd be there for you. You can't blame your absence on the job, since you're **not** **on** the job!"

Stan stopped to take a breath, and then had another thought. "Is it your family?" Martin is my family, and by extension, so is Dana.

"Yes. Sort of. I'll explain when I get back to work."

"You had better explain now, Inspector. What do I tell the promotion board when they call? I need more than that you left the office shorthanded for an unexplained family matter. Would a Chief do that? If it was just me, I might let it slide— **IF** you had a good reason. The promotion board and your partner may not be so forgiving. You're still her partner. She expects you."

"I know she does Stan." I was frustrated, and angry, and start raising my voice. "I told you, I would be there if I could, but I **CAN'T**." I shift my shoulders to release the tension. Stan doesn't deserve my angry frustration. "How is Norah? What does Jinx know?"

Stan voice returned to normal. "I saw Norah. She's staying at Mark's. His mother is looking after her. Norah asked for her 'mama' while I was there. I told Joanna and Jinx that Mary was on an assignment that took longer than planned."

I close my eyes, cursing the quandary I'm in. "I will do my best to wrap things up and be back at work next week."

" **No**!" Stan roared. "I expect answers **now** Inspector!"

Crap. Mary's hurt and I can't be there. I know she never wanted to work with another marshal. Mary only trusts me. At least she used to.

A cry from Martin and Dana's room tells me he's awake and hungry. Waking up in strange place must be scary. Dana will try to get him, but she's so weak. "Stan, I have to go. I'll call you back."

"Immediately, Inspector," Stan barked. "Call me back **immediately**." I don't know if Stan heard Martin, but he's willing to give me a few minutes.

Once Martin is settled I talk to Dana. She's okay with being left alone for an hour or two. I get Martin's jacket and call Stan. I ask him to meet me at a coffee shop ten blocks from the Sunshine Building and the court house.

Thirty minutes later, Martin is poking the marshmallows in his hot chocolate while I sip my usual. The bell on the door jingles as Stan enters. He sees me and sits down across from Martin and I.

I put my cup on the table. "Thanks for coming Stan." He's angry but he's here.

Stan scrutinizes the toddler. When Martin looks up, I know what Stan sees. He looks from Martin to me and back. "I hope you've got a good explanation Inspector."

I was keeping an eye on Martin. The way he gave Stan the hairy eyeball made me smile. "That I do." I grab Martin's cup just as he's about to dump it into his overalls.

I put Martin's cup down and hold his hand. "Stan, I'd like you to meet my son, Martin."

Stan would have been wearing coffee if he had any. "I see the resemblance, but you have nephews ..." Any other time it would be funny to see Stan so nonplussed. Sorry, Stan. This may take your remaining hair. "It's a long story for another time, but you've got the basics. He's my son, and he's living with me now." He understands that I will tell him more when little pitchers with big ears weren't around.

"Martin," I look at his sweet face, slightly bored, a bit anxious. "I'd like you to meet my boss, Stan."

"Boss?"

"Yes, he's the man I work for." Did he understand what that meant?

Martin looked at me, confused. "You don't work. You're a marshal. Momma said."

* * *

A/N: I'm going to assume that the lack of reviews means I haven't screwed anything up. Yet. Thanks to all that are following this story. Knowing you're reading fuels the muse. Shall we take a peak at how Mary is doing in the hospital next?


	14. Hospital Horrors

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

* * *

Sonn of Mann

Chapter 14 – Hospital Horrors

Mary POV

Earlier that week

"What the hell? Where am I?" My eyelids weigh a ton, and my mouth isn't working. It's stuck and tastes like the bottom of a bird cage. At least my ears work. I hear squeaks like rubber soles on linoleum. When I pry my eyes open everything is blurry. Blurry and white and way too bright. Crap! I'm in a hospital.

A man in scrubs is leaning over me. "Ah. Nice of you join us Ms. Sheppard." Ugh. Condescending doctor speak meaning I survived his screwups.

I want to say "Who the hell are you?" but my throat is full of plastic.

"Keep calm Ms. Sheppard. You're at Denver Health Medical Center. You have a breathing tube down your throat. If you'll just cough we can remove it."

Denver, how the hell did I get to Denver? Robin and I never made it to Denver. Dawson was shot, not me. When they start pulling the tube it feels like it is sharp spikes are being dragged up my throat. When it's finally out a spoon full of ice chips appears and I open my mouth like a baby bird.

The tears of pain from the tube clear and I search the room for Marshall. He'll know what happened. Instead I see Dawson, arm in a sling, standing near the door. The ice helps but my throat is sore. I want my partner. My real partner.

"How are you feeling Ms. Sheppard?" The doc is still here?

I cough and swallow. "Like a hedgehog was rammed down my throat backwards. Where's Marshal Miller?" If he's using my cover name, Marshal would be Miller.

The hospital staff look at each other as if I am speaking in tongues. "Hey, Deputy Dawg," I cough. "Dawson," comes out as a muted croak.

Dawson steps closer to my bed. "Here, take a sip." The doc nods that water is okay. "The package was delivered in good condition Mary. Can't say the same for you."

He turns to the medical professionals. "Can I have a word in private with Ms. Shepard?"

The doctor nods. "We'll be monitoring her vitals and will step in if there's any change."

"Of course, doctor." Dawson moves closer, waiting for the medical staff to leave.

It hurts to talk but I have to know. "What happened? Where's Marshall? He always here when I wake up in a hospital." My brain feels like mush. My stomach hurts and my throat is raw. I need Marshall to explain it to me. Where in the hell is he?

Dawson looks perplexed.

"Marshall my idiot sensei sort-of- partner." I cough and clarify. At least Jinx and Brandi aren't here. I close my eyes. Brandi is missing, again, and now Marshall has gone AWOL.

"Always? You get shot often?" Dawson asks.

Shot? So that's what happened? When? I try to cross my arms and wince as the IV pulls my skin. "No, but when I do, he's here," I manage to croak.

The doc butts in. "That's enough talking for now Ms. Shephard. Your throat and the rest of you need time to heal. We're going to give you something for the pain. It will relax you."

There must be nurse just over my shoulder because I see the IV tube move. What's she doing?

 _The doc's face is getting wavy. Wavy gravy. Am I underwater? There's Marshall. Marshall is wavy too. I'm happy. He's not waving good bye, he's just flowing and then he's gone. Flown away._

 _Marshall. Where are you? I see rainbows like oil on a wet street. Pretty. Get your hands off the girls, Purvis._

 _He's tickling me. He's grinning like an crocodile. Crock. That's a crock._

 _An octopus. Arms tighten around me. I'm wrestling an octopus._

 _Marshall? Crystal blue eyes. Moaning, "So beaut...mnmm. Always you, always you in my dreams." I'm dreaming. A rippling crazy underwater dream._

 _"Ask Abigail." Wavy Marshall says._

 _What the hell? Is this Wonderland? Did he mean ask Alice? I sure as hell would never ask his ex-fiancée anything. Marshall has me in a full body hold. He knows how to use those long arms and long legs and long...oh my god. Feels so good._

 _"She says I call your name when I'm sleep.. sleep...asleep." He hiccups and the mattress bounces._

My eyes open to see Dawson shaking the mattress.

"Mary, Mary. Wake up." Through slitted eyes I see him hit the call button. The door opens. Suddenly the room feels full of people. "Doctor, I think she's having some sort of fit."

Dawson. Damn it. The tendrils of my dream lover refuse to budge. I was heading toward the orgasm of my life with. . . Marshall? Oh God. Must be the really good drugs. Did that actually happen Tuesday night? Nyah. Just in my dreams. We could never just fuck. I may be that kind of girl, but Marshall isn't that kind of a guy.

Marshall needs, no he deserves the romance, the emotional connection, the happily ever after. And he had it with Abigail. How could she say she loved him when she wouldn't raise his son? Even if Martin turned out to be a little hellion, I would love him, because he's Marshall's. Just like Marshall loves Norah. Huh. He does love Norah.

Huh? Marshall loves Norah. He loves all babies. Right? But he has known Norah since the beginning. Marshall paid attention to her before I knew she was a she. His pregnancy advice, his labor instructions, the gifts he gave her, the time he watched her at work. He thinks I didn't see him reciting Shakespeare to her in the conference room. I saw. I just didn't understand what it meant.

Oh god, what if we had sex? The worst kind of drunken rebound sex. Marshall doesn't do rebound sex. If we actually did the deed he's going to hate himself, and he's going to hate me. He's not here, so maybe we did.

Dawson interrupts my chaotic mix of dreams, reality and my bleak future. "If you're up to it Chief Anderson wants your report."

Do I look like I have a keyboard hidden under this gown? Idiot! I don't see any Chief-like people lurking in the hall. "Where's Stan? He gets my report." Et tu Stanley? Marshall doesn't want to see me and refuses to come, now Stan?

"He... uh ... can't leave the office. The report will go to him, but he arranged for Chief Anderson to take it. Think you can do it?"

I cough. Dawson hands me the water glass. I must have been out for quite a while. My throat feels much better. After a few swallows I say, "Yeah, I'm ready."

"Let me call Anderson and get him down here."

"Why isn't he here now?" This Denver Chief must be some kind of slacker. Can't even hang around till I'm conscious?

"Mary, you've been here four days. He can't sit in the hospital waiting for you to wake up. I was supposed to go back to Albuquerque but Stan told me to stay till you were conscious."

Four days? How could it be Tuesday? Crap. I've been out of pocket for six days and out of my mind for . . . four? But why can't Stan leave? The Phoenix marshals currently stinking up the office can take up the slack. Must be some Chief thing.

When Dawson leaves, the doc peels away the bandage on my side. Gross. If only I had love handles. They would have taken the hit and it wouldn't hurt so damn much. He tells me I'm healing well but the internal bleed and a reaction to the anesthetic have kept me here for four friggin days. Huh. That explains why I feel stiff.

I must have dozed off again because when I open my eyes the doc is gone and there's a gray haired man in a suit and marshal's star standing next to Dawson.

"Chief Anderson, this is Inspector Shannon."

I nod a greeting. He shakes my hand and then brings out a recorder. "Are you ready to give your statement?" I nod and eye this Chief. He stands tall and straight, probably ex-military. He says the things about dedication and service you say to the wounded. God, I'm lucky to work for Stan. I wish he would just get on with it. "Chief, can Dawson stay? He may be able to fill in some of the blanks."

The Chief agrees and I tell him what I remember. The firefight at the Colorado/Kansas border. The backup arriving _**after** _ we had done their job. Dawson falling on a bullet. Robin and I getting a new ride, taking along another marshal, my decision to stop outside Denver. The ambush and route change had put us behind schedule. Once in a room Robin went to clean up. I was sitting on the bed feeling sticky and tired. I took off my vest. I remember the stricken look on Robin's face as she started to scream. I remember falling back. After that, nothing.

The Chief turns off the recorder and promises to have the report transcribed for my signature by tomorrow. Jesus that means I will be here another day. When the Chief leaves I beckon Dawson closer.

"So, uh, we got 'em?" My memory is spotty. Since we're still alive, I was pretty sure we took them out.

His alligator grin rivals my partners. "You got one car, I got the other. Gas tanks exploded." He makes a silly whooshing noise and throws his hands in the air. "After those fireballs, they weren't going anywhere," he announces proudly. Our back up became the clean up crew.

Hmm. There's melted asphalt with my name on it along that stretch of highway. "Robin?" She is Mia's niece. She's not just another witness.

"Not a scratch. She's a brave one. She's more determined now to testify than before." Dawson looked like a basset hound now, all soft wrinkles around his smile.

I can't keep my eyes open. I need to know if the mob was still after us. I need to talk to Stan. I need Marshall but what I got the inside of my eyelids.

A few hours must have gone by. Dawson is still here but he's nodding distractedly as the nurse gives him after care instructions.

"Mary?" Shit. Observant twit. He knows I'm awake.

"Mary?"

"Yeah. You gotta stifle your penchant for waking me up. Could be hazardous to your health," I grouse.

He gives me a patient smile. Saving his life has earned me some latitude. "They took your weapon, Mary." As if that could keep him safe. When I try to grab his arm a wave of pain hits me and I fall back onto the bed. "I'm going back to the office. With you and Marshall out, the rest of them have their hands full."

Marshall's not at work? Where the hell is he? That's it. There's my proof. We had sex and now he hates me. Abigail just left him and now he wants me out of his life. One of us, meaning me, will have to transfer. I had wondered if I could work for 'Chief' Marshall. I never took orders from him and I don't think I can start now. Leaving is an appropriate punishment.

Albuquerque is more home than Jersey ever was. I hate to uproot Norah, but she's too young to notice. Where can I find a more trustworthy babysitter than Joanna? Maybe having Marshall as a boss would be easier. Your boss can't be your friend.

All these thoughts flash through my medicated brain before I realized Dawson is speaking. "You'll be here a couple more days. Stan has arranged for visitors. They should be here tomorrow."

Visitors! What the hell. Most people avoid me when I'm not sick, why would anyone want to see me now? It better not be Jinx. Dawson can see how thrilled I am.

"Stan says he didn't want you leaving a bloody trail all the way back to Albuquerque. When the doc says you can go Stan will arrange transportation."

"Yeah yeah." I grouse, letting him know I heard him. "Hey Dawson?"

"Yes."

"Thanks, for . . . .you know." My hand twitches in a small flip toward him.

Dawson looks startled. "You're the one who pulled it off Mary. I'm pretty sure I'm still alive because of you."

"Oh for god's sake." I fiddle with the sheet hiding my oh so chic hospital gown. "Don't go mushy on me." I am so ruining my Bitch of WITSEC reputation.

Dawson smiles waves and walks out.

Visitors? Who in the hell did Stan coerce into coming to visit me? Isn't there a guard on my room? Maybe I can slip him some dough to keep everyone out. I suppose Marshal could be allowed to visit, but I know I'll only see him in my dreams.

* * *

Another day. A way too early breakfast. Another 'nutritious' hospital lunch. Bleah. Visiting hours must have started. I can't make out who is standing next to the marshal guarding my room. When he moves I can see a man, a woman and gangly kid pretending to be a teenager. What the hell?

As soon as he enters, I know. Fucking Feeb Faber is charging into my room, trench coat flapping, and a bunch of dead plants in his hand.

"Kitten! So glad you're on the mend. You've had a hell of a week." He pats my hand gingerly, avoiding the IV.

"And your visit just adds insult to the injury." I glare at him, then give the woman and kid a once over.

"I'd like you to meet my lovely wife, and our son." He turns to the woman and points at me. "Honey, this is the woman I told you about. She's the one who convinced me you might take me back."

God, guess the sex was bad for him too.

The missus takes my hand and smiles warmly. "Nice to meet you."

My brain isn't quite up to speed. Instead of hello I ask "Does he call you Kitten too?"

His wife replied cheekily. "Yeah, but I just grab his tail to make him stop." Mike ducks his head his cheeks pinking.

I purse my lips. Huh. Hadn't thought of that. It must work. She may have forgiven him, but she isn't about to forget. A little Mike bashing. I can do that. This is awkward. "So he told you what happened in Mexico?" Why would Faber do that? He didn't exactly come out smelling like a rose.

"Mostly the part where you talked some sense into him. Made him see the importance of family and that it takes more than saying you're committed to make things work. I don't know how you did it Mary, but I'm . . . grateful"

Oh yeah. I'm Cupid. Just what I live for - a teary wife thanking me for convincing her ass wipe husband to make a go of it.

I squint at Faber. "Why are you here?"

"To see you, of course. I heard you were injured." His smile doesn't fool me. Stan sent him. I thought Stan liked, well tolerated, me. "My wife wanted to meet you."

She really wanted to meet me? Nyah. She doesn't trust him. She's not letting him go off alone if she can help it. Smart woman. Their kid is deep into his DS ignoring the adults. Probably for the best. My disbelief must be showing.

"That, and Stan called," he admitted. "He knows I'm here and since he couldn't spare anyone from your office, he asked me to drop by."

I groaned. "To check on me."

"Well," he demurred, "He was worried. The official reports don't say much."

The official report told what had happened but not how we survived. Hell I didn't even know how I had gotten shot. Adrenaline magic must have taken me away.

Mrs. Mike took the flowers and commandeered a vase. After finding a spot for them, she touched Mike's sleeve, but smiled at me. "Mary, we're going to the cafeteria. Dylan said he was starving all the way here. He's always hungry." She rolls her eyes. "Can we bring you something?"

"No, I'm fine. They have me on a restricted diet." I wasn't sure that was true, but I didn't want to have her get me anything. Although they were separated at the time Mike and I went to Mexico it seems weird to be in the same room with his wife.

"Oh, right. Sorry I didn't think of that." She was genuinely chagrined. How did Mike manage to convince this woman to marry him? She seems . . . nice.

I wave my hand indicating it's no big deal.

After she leaves I confront Faber. "Did you arrange that to get me alone?"

"Sort of," he hissed. "We can't exactly discuss your job with civilians present." Faber did that winking thing he thinks is cute. "Stan said the report doesn't make any sense. If you got shot on the road, how did you get to the motel 50 miles away with the witness?"

I gave Faber my best guess about the bulletproof vest putting pressure on the wound, keeping me from bleeding out. He promised to tell Stan.

Before the wife and kid came back there was one more thing I had to know. I hate to ask Faber, but my options are limited.

"Do you know where Marshall is?" If he's on assignment maybe he doesn't hate me. Or he doesn't remember. Either way, we're golden. Anything else, we're shit.

"Isn't he off getting married?" Had Faber been talking to our water cooler?

I stop and think. "Uh, what day is it?"

Faber told me and it wasn't the wedding date, not even close. As far as I knew the invitations hadn't been mailed. But they could have patched things up, ditched all the nancy prancy party stuff and eloped.

"I don't think so." I finally admit. Faber looks at me curious. "I've been out of touch for a while."

My thoughts drift back to Albuquerque while Faber blathered. Marshall isn't there. God, I miss Eleanor. I can't ask Delia. All the marshals in the western U.S. would know. Dammit. Where are you Marshall? You better not be hurt. It would be some sort of cosmic catastrophe if we both end up in the hospital while partnered with others.

In a strange way, I hope he is angry at me. It's better than having him injured.

* * *

A/N: My apologies for fragments and typos. Next: What do Ma and Pa Mann think of their newest grandson?


	15. Meet the Manns

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann

Chapter 15 – Meet the Manns

Marshall POV

Mom and Dad wanted to meet Dana, and of course, Martin. I asked them to wait until Dana was in hospice. Martin didn't need to deal with new people. A new place was bad enough. They agreed, reluctantly. Mom is frustrated, and so am I.

Mary is still at Denver Medical. At least I think she is. I've called but she never answers. I didn't want to bother Stan. I even called Dawson. I was damned if I would call Faber. All anyone told me is that she was improving and was expected to be released this week. My parents, Mary, and Dana are determined to converge, burying me in the emotional shit storm of all time.

I hired a nurse for Dana until she entered hospice. If there was anywhere else I could accommodate Dana and Martin we wouldn't be in this house. Too many memories tear at my composure. I need to keep it together for Dana and Martin's sake. Thinking of Mary's calm determination under fire, real and emotional helps. If she can do it, dammit, so can I.

While the nurse was with Dana, I took Martin to the Albuquerque Aquarium. Seeing the aquatic vertebrates from his perspective was like seeing them for the first time. I tried to keep things as normal as possible. We did the same things we did in Phoenix. We went to the park, and the library. The Albuquerque library doesn't look like the one in Phoenix. It took seeing some familiar books in the children's section for Martin to realize it was a library. He almost smiled.

Seeing the world though his eyes made everything seem fresh and new. I described every place before we went, to give him time to get used to the idea. He cooperated when I helped him get dressed and even gave me hugs. I never knew I could love anyone so completely so quickly. It took me months of partnership for my heart to wrap itself around the conundrum that is Mary Shannon. Abigail was easy to know and easy to like. I thought she would be easy to love, but real love isn't easy.

Martin and I accompanied Dana to hospice. Martin carried some of her things, and helped her move into the spartan room that would be her home for all too brief a time. He didn't understand why she didn't come home with us. When we got home Martin wandered through the house looking for her. I had a photo of Dana in her new digs and showed it to Martin reminding him where she was. I assured him we would go to see her. That night we read every book he had, twice. When he finally passed out in my arms I couldn't hold back my tears. How was I going to explain to him that his mother didn't want to leave him? I held him until I began to fall asleep, then put him to bed.

I hadn't heard from Abigail, and didn't check with ABQPD. We had the place to ourselves and that was all that mattered.

Once Dana moved out, I knew there was no keeping Mom from her grandson. Sure enough, early next morning, there's a knock on the door and a familiar voice saying "Marshall. Honey. I know you're in there. No one with a toddler sleeps past 7." She's right. Martin is awake by 6 a.m. I'll never need an alarm clock.

We're still in our pajamas when I hoist Martin on my hip and open the door. As soon as he sees my parents he hides his face against my neck.

Mom holds Dad back and gives Martin a chance to look them over before entering. "Aw, Sweetie, there's no reason to be shy." Mom croons. "I'm Marshall's Mom and this is his Dad. We've come to see you."

I step back. "C'mon in. I didn't expect you so soon. The guest room. . . ."

Dad escorts Mom in. "No need, son," he informs me. "We've got a place." Before I could ask he volunteered, "The Candlewood Suites." They are planning on being here a while. The Candlwood is an extended stay hotel.

"Have you two had breakfast?" When I told Mom we had just finished she bustles into the kitchen with a grocery bag Dad had been carrying. She returns quickly joining us in the living room. "Don't fuss Marshall. We're here to help, not make more work for you."

Dad puts their coats in the closet as Mom herds Martin and I to the couch. The same place where Abigail forced me to choose between my fiancee and my son. Martin doesn't want to let go so I settle him on my lap. Mom and Dad sit across the coffee table from us.

"Hi sweetie." Mom smiles warmly at Martin. "Since I'm Marshall's mom, I am your Grandma, and this is your Grandpa. We are so happy to meet you."

Dad puts another bag, this one from Bigglesnorts, Albuquerque's biggest toy store on the coffee table. "When did you get in?" I ask.

"Yesterday," Mom admitted. "But we knew you'd be tied up with . . . other things." She chooses her words carefully. She doesn't want to remind Martin of his missing mother. She smiles brightly. "We had time to shop."

I nudge Marty. "Hey big guy. That's for you." I gesture to the bag. "You want to see what's in it?" He stays curled around me and shakes his head no.

"I think you do," I wheedled. "I know I do."

"Leave him be, honey. There's time for that later." Mom keeps an eye on us while prattling on about my brothers and their families. Dad interjects what he considers pertinent details. Eventually, Martin loosens his hold on me and sits half facing his grandparents. Mom delves into the Bigglesnorts bag and removes a book with a picture of a bulldozer on the cover. She holds it out to Martin. "I wonder what this is about. Should we find out?" she asks. "I'd love to read it to you." Martin must hear the love in her voice and see it in her eyes. Dad had gotten up to wander through the house. Curiosity got the best of Martin and he took Dad's seat so he could see the book. After several books, he was in her lap, fast asleep.

The next day we all went to see Dana. She looked better, but I think that was because Martin was there. Mom was her warm comforting self. Dad was gruff but reassuring. They told Dana that Martin is their grandson and that he has cousins, aunts and uncles. Mom was pretty convincing.

I had to get back to work. With Mom and Dad eager to babysit, I manage to make an appearance. I even visit a few witnesses. Still no Mary. Where the hell is she? Why won't she take my calls or answer my emails? Is she mad because I couldn't go to the hospital?

Even though I'm now sleeping in my own bed (mine and Abigail's) I'm still dreaming of Mary. I've had nightmares about her getting shot, or kidnapped but these are different. Erotic. Sensual. In my dreams I'm enthralled seeing the love in her eyes and feeling the grip of her willing body under mine. Her kisses burn but I don't care. She is hot and ready, and mine. Why am I dreaming about that now? Why is Mary starring in the Mann Theater of the Absurd? Because it's absurd to think that Mary would ever love me like that.

Between visits to Dana, Mom and Dad and Martin look at preschools. Mom has questions. Dad mutters about background checks. After dinner, when Martin is asleep, we discuss what they have found. There are three that stand out. Martin and I will have to check them out ourselves.

We hadn't talked about it but when Martin is in preschool, they can go home. They've helped so much, but they have their own place, their own friends. I have to figure out how to handle Martin's needs on my own. I understand that once they leave, I will need back up. That's where Mary comes in. If she ever decides to talk to me.

I've left her messages and talked to Stan. Stan assures me my appointment to Chief Inspector will be approved any day. Martin needs to be settled and Mom and Dad need to return to their own lives. At work I've done all the preparation I can. I've cleaned out my desk, updated and filed all my witness reports and started transitioning many of them to Delia.

* * *

Mom and Dad are taking Martin to see Dana this morning. Since they helped with Martin I got an early start. The office is quiet. So far it's just me and Stan, and the percolating of the coffee maker in the break room. Stan has gotten himself a cup and waves it in my direction inviting me to his office. Soon to be my office. Surreal. "How are things?" he asks.

"Good, good." I clear my throat. "I've cleared out my desk. My files are all up to date. I want to be sure my witnesses are ready for the change. No loose ends, Stan. Especially now."

"Yeah," Stan leans back. "About that." He gestures me to sit.

"Loose ends?"

Stan looks down at his hands clasped over his stomach. "No, your promotion. There's been a hitch, a delay. I'm sure it's temporary."

I lean closer. "What do you know Stan?" If it was really minor he wouldn't even mention it.

Stan sits back, folds his hands over his stomach and stares at me. "There's been a complaint filed."

"Complaint?" Which one of my witnesses would complain? "About what Chief?" I've always had the respect of my peers. Lord knows if I could get along with Mary I could get along with anyone.

Stan grimaces. "A complaint that you aren't morally fit to be Chief." I shove myself back in the chair. This had to be Abigail's doing. That, that . . . bitch actually did it.

"Marshall, do you have any idea. . . .?"

"Yeah Stan," I look at him mournfully. "I think it's Abigail."

"Abigail?" He's mystified. It's clear he didn't understand what canceling my honeymoon meant. "Aren't you two getting married?"

I put my elbows on my knees and shake my head. "Not any more. Abigail ended our engagement." I snort. "The only good part was that we split before the wedding invitations were mailed."

Now it's Stan's turn to sit back. He looks rather than voices his question, asking why the love of my life would ditch me.

I sigh, and look up at him. "Martin. My son, Martin."

"Abigail left because you have a son?" He doesn't understand. Join the club, Stan.

"She said she couldn't raise another woman's son. She doesn't care that he is **my** son. She said he would ruin my career, sabotage my promotion. Looks like she is making her prediction come true."

Stan looks askance. "That's ridiculous. You aren't the only single parent in the Marshal Service." Of course not, there's Mary.

"What about single parent Chief Inspectors?" I couldn't think of any.

Stan shook his head. "According to policy it doesn't matter." He and I both know that policy doesn't always translate to practice. "The U.S. Marshall doesn't accept anonymous complaints. They must know who filed the complaint. Do they know that you and Abigail were engaged?" Stan is thinking his way through the bureaucratic labyrinth. He puts his hands flat on his desk. "Let me handle this."

"Stan," I protest. "I don't need you to fight my battles."

"Inspector, she must have connections in the Marshal's office. Let me use mine and see what I can find. Besides, I'll never leave here if you don't move into this office." Stan predicts wryly.

I drag myself out of Stan's office. Was Abigail really that petty, or that angry? 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.' But she wasn't scorned. I was. What deep seated need would cause her to lash out like this? I know she was irritated ( _face it, she was pissed)_ when Mary's father surfaced and I missed some wedding appointments. I tried to explain that it was the job. You know - ' **fugitive**.' Mary's father was a fugitive. Capturing fugitives is in the Marshal's damn mission statement.

While I contemplate Abigail's betrayal the rest of the staff arrive. Delia brings me a muffin and when she sees my empty mug, she gets me coffee. It takes some effort to remember to thank her. She must already know that the wedding is off. My dazed demeanor would indicate that. After a morning of pretending to work Stan calls me into his office. Answers so soon?

Seeing my hopeful expression, he says, "No, I haven't gotten to the bottom of the complaint yet. There's something else. Mary's been cleared for desk duty and will be in tomorrow. As soon as she completes her time with Shelley, she'll be back out in the field."

Stan pauses and clears his throat. "Are you ready for this? I mean are you two. . . .okay?"

Good question Stan. Damn if I know. I haven't talked to Mary since she left on that disastrous witness transport.

I stand up with a sigh. "We'll have to be, won't we? Don't worry Stan. Even Mary can be professional."

"I know that." Stan shakes his head sorrowfully. "If it isn't one of you it's the other. Mary's been through the wringer these last two years. Norah. Her father. Now it's your turn. It's a damn shame."

I bristle at his comments. I don't need his pity. With my next breath I realize that isn't fair. He cares. There's no crime in that. He's right though. My whole life is out of whack. Engaged. Not engaged. A fiancee. A son. That's a lot of changes in a month.

"How is Dana?" His voice is gentle. I had told him about Dana when he met Martin in the coffee shop.

I dry wash my face, trying to wipe away the sadness. "She's fading every time I see her. It's so hard on Martin. Some days she tells me not to bring him." My eyes water as I remember our last visit. Dana is practically translucent and so tired. Sick and tired.

"My folks are here. We found a preschool for Martin. As soon as . . . "

"Dana dies?" Stan supplied.

I hang my head not wanting to say the words. "That" I'm forced to admit, "or when he adjusts to preschool. We've got one picked out. He'll be able to start half days next week. Mom insists on staying until he goes all day. I'll still need a nanny or housekeeper to take care of him after school."

"And Mary?"

"I don't know Stan. She hasn't returned my calls or texts. I think she's still mad I wasn't there after her surgery. She's met Martin and Dana but doesn't know they are here." Since his eyebrows are heading for his nonexistent hairline this is news to him.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read this story and spend a bit more time with Marshall and Mary.


	16. Back to Work

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 16 – Back to Work

MARSHALL POV

The top deck of the parking structure is empty and I expect to be alone in the office. But when the elevator door opens I see Mary at her desk. I know she heard the elevator, but she doesn't even look to see me carrying her welcome back breakfast. It would have been nice if she had opened the gate for me. Mary likes to watch me struggle. It was a challenge, but one I'd accomplished successfully many times.

I approach her desk tentatively. I nudge a venti coffee onto her desk followed by a napkin with a danish. She inhales, smelling the coffee but stays focused on her desk. I clear my throat and she squints at me. She's so pale, so thin, so fragile. She didn't look this bad when she returned from being shot in the gut. What the hell happened?

"Welcome back Mare." She barely acknowledges my greeting. She does blame me. She should. It's my fault she got shot. "I . . .I'm so sorry."

"For bringing me coffee? Why? Did you poison it?" I shake my head. "Why the hell are you sorry?" She looks tired and confused, not the angry partner I expected.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be at the hospital." I elaborate. Wait a minute. I know that look. Guilt. Why would she feel guilty? She's the one who was shot. She's shifting in her chair, scooting away.

"I don't have cooties Mare. You don't have to keep your distance." What is she doing? I don't blame her if she's still angry.

"You, you uh. . . know how tenuous Dana's health is." She nods, acknowledging. "I was in Phoenix convincing Dana to come to Albuquerque with Martin. If I could have been there, I would have."

Her shoulders relax and she huffs. I can't tell if that's acceptance or not. Her eyes narrow and she peers at me like a fly on her danish.

"Oh. Umm" She nods. "That's okay. I understand." She pauses before adding, "Did you?"

"Did I what? Did I convince her to move?" She nods and looks down at the open binder on her desk.

"Yes. She's at Angelheart Hospice." She winces when I say hospice. She once told me hospice is the way we sugar coat death row so we don't have to deal with it. "Martin is living with me."

Her eyebrows raise. "With you and . . . ." Her eyes are watery, red. Maybe she has a cold? Should she be at work?

I shake my head. "Just me. Abigail moved out. Martin and I are staying there for now. There wasn't time to find another place."

She turns back to her desk but I'm need to keep the conversation going. "I heard you had a visitor. In the hospital?"

"You heard about that?" She twist just her head and looks at me out of the corner of her eye.

I nod. "Stan told me."

She shakes her head then turns to look at me. "Stan sent him. I used to think Stan liked me. Can you imagine Faber **and** the missus? I don't know how he ever convinced her to marry him. She seems like a smart cookie."

"I've always wondered what his wife looked like." I bet Faber has a type of woman he prefers.

Mary's perplexed but shrugs and answers. "Blonde, about 5'8" curves in all the right places."

"In other words she looks just like you." Faber's attracted to Mary because she's his physical type. Temperament? Couldn't be more different.

She's puzzled by this new insight. "So I was his wife substitute?"

I don't bother answering. She knows the answer. That's why she talked him into getting back with his wife. She's finally got the pieces to fit. Her face switches from chagrined to humiliated.

"She thanked me." She looks away and her voice is a hoarse whisper. She shakes her head, uncomprehending. "I went on vacation with her husband and she thanked me." She squints and looks to me for an answer. "Why would she do that?"

I take a sip from my coffee and shrug. "Because she's happy with the end result? You're good at solving other people's problems."

"And making a hash of my own," she glances up, "and recently yours." She takes a sip and closes her eyes savoring her favorite brew, blocking bad memories.

The moment of warmth passes. Fragile Mary is back all sharp edges and nervous energy. "I've got some catching up to do," she says to her desk. "Thanks for the coffee, and. . . .you know."

No I don't know Mare. What is going on with you?

"How about lunch? I'll buy." She snorts. I always buy. "I know you're stuck on desk duty but your tolerance for routine has always been low. You'll need a break. After all, you've got to eat." I need to figure out how to take care of Martin. "We need to talk." She freezes. What did I say? "About childcare," I add. She turns and glares at me but her shoulders drop a bit.

"Look, I know you interviewed a lot when you were looking for a nanny. What did you find?" Since when is childcare a hot button for Mary?

She peers up at me sardonically. "I found that none of them measured up. Why?" Of course no one is good enough to care for Norah. That's why Mary couldn't give her up for adoption.

"I've got to find someone for Martin. Can we talk about this at lunch?"

She shrugs apathetically. "I guess."

* * *

I know Mary's hungry. I can hear her stomach growl from here. Mine is complaining too. She insisted on reviewing all her witnesses before leaving the office. When she shoves the last folder into the drawer, I go to her desk and tilt my head toward the gate. She sighs with resignation and gathers her things.

She trails behind me taking her time entering her favorite Mexican cafe."Mexican's okay, right?" Have her tastes changed since Norah? Maybe the surgery put her off spicy food.

"Sure." She brushes invisible crumbs off the seat. She sits, pushing herself against the back of the booth. Grabbing the menu she erects it between us. Why does she need a menu? It hasn't changed since she memorized it years ago.

The waitress is standing at our table and still she hasn't said a word. Wanting to get back to the office at a reasonable time I encourage her. "Order your usual, Mare. Why change now?"

She's gob smacked. As if I had answered a question she hadn't voiced. Why would not changing upset her? She's never been a fan of surprises.

Once we've ordered, I clear my throat. "You know this is your first day back. You should take it easy, leave early. Stan won't mind."

She sips her water. "The doc cleared me. I can ride a desk," she replies disgusted.

"Yeah, but you, uh you seem . . . Are you . . . Does it hurt?" I'd give anything to examine her wound, but it's not worth losing a limb.

"Nah, just a twinge now and then." She drops her head. "I'll be out harassing your witnesses before you know it." She sits up suddenly, grimacing from the abrupt movement. "Enough about me. What did you want to talk about?"

"Childcare in Albuquerque?" I remind her.

She sips her water and cuts her eyes at me. "I only looked for infant care. You know, a full time nanny, nurse person. Is that what you want?" She's answers my question but remains distracted.

"Not really, but that's what Martin needs. My folks and I have looked at preschools, but you know how long our days can be. I need someone who can pick him up from preschool, make him dinner. All that stuff."

"Day care after preschool?" she suggests, jamming the straw repeatedly into the ice of her drink.

I sit back and smooth the napkin out. "He's going to be with kids all day. If he's like me, he'll need some time to himself. I want him to feel at home, to have his things, his place, and if I can't be there, someone I can trust to care for him."

She snorts. "Sounds like you're looking for a wife."

Sure, Mare. Twist the dagger a little deeper. To her credit she looks mortified. "I'm sorry Marshall, I didn't mean. . ."

"Yes you did. And you're right. If I had a wife who was willing to stay home I wouldn't need someone to take care of Martin. My folks have been great, but I can't ask them to stay much longer."

It's her turn to sigh and it's not just post-surgery blahs. "Trust," she says. "That's it in a nutshell. How can you trust someone you've just met with the most precious person in your life?" She rotates her water glass. "Joanna is . . . . . She's thrilled to take care of Norah. I don't know what I would do if she decided to move."

"So she's redeemed herself for Mark?" We're being way too serious here.

Mary chuckles and sounds like her old self. Almost. "I wouldn't go that far, but she's definitely working on it."

Our lunch arrives and Mary tells me which agencies she investigated. She was as thorough as I expected. She told me what she's heard about a few of the preschools from other mothers at the playground. It's not much, but it helps.

I'm eating slowly, taking my time hoping Mary will relax so we can talk about us, about our partnership, our friendship. She hasn't attacked her lunch with her usual ravenous appetite. I'm getting a strange vibe. Does she know I've been having erotic dreams about her, us?

I point to her half full plate. "Hospital food ruin your taste buds?"

She pushes her plate away. "Nah," she shakes her head. "Probably the medication."

It never bothered her before. "Are you taking any new meds? Something you haven't had before?"

She looks at the ceiling, and then to me. "I don't think so."

"You've got to keep your strength up Mare. You won't be able to watch my back." Ugh. How can I joke about that when I'm the one who wasn't watching her back?

She sighs. "In a few days that won't be my job, Chief."

The bad news from Stan drops like a two ton anvil. "We'll see." I across at her. "You might be stuck with me."

"Why? What's going on?"

I didn't want to talk about it now, but she might as well find out from me and not Delia.

"My promotion is being delayed while the board investigates my 'moral fitness' to be Chief."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means Martin. I have an 'illegitimate' child." I do the air quotes she hates to show how idiotic the charges are. No one has ever referred to Norah that way.

"So? Join the club. Membership is pretty exclusive," she shrugs with a wry smile. "Dues are high though. Sleepless nights, hyper vigilance, teething, spit up."

That's my girl! That's the first thing she's said that sound like the Mary Shannon I know and . . . .

"Why in the hell is it even an issue?" she whispers angrily. "Who even knows about Martin besides me and Stan and Abigail?" She stops talking and starts thinking. "I haven't told anyone, and Stan wouldn't do anything to jeopardize your promotion. Abigail? Do you think she's behind this?"

I close my eyes and nod. "Yes, I do. Stan's looking into it."

She pushes her hair back. "God I miss Eleanor. You would have heard about this a lot sooner and could have nipped it in the bud."

"Maybe."

"How dare she? You aren't the only single parent in the Service. Last time I checked there were no regs against procreation. You could do the job with one hand tied behind your back. Doing it with Martin will be a piece of cake. It will all blow over. You'll see. It's bullshit."

I'm delighted to hear her defend me, but something's still off. Abigail's betrayal has rekindled her anger but she's still tense, guarded. I know her change in attitude isn't about motherhood.

Before I can explore her reaction to the accusation, she looks at the clock, and prepares to leave.

"Do you think it would be all right if I went to see Dana?" Mary is a master at changing the subject. Especially when there's something she doesn't want to talk about.

"Sure, why not?"

"Sometimes dying people want their privacy. It's as if they are embarrassed by their body's betrayal. Mia needed alone time."

"Dana has plenty of alone time, even though she's had visitors. Some of her co-workers from UNM have come by."

"Because you told them."

I duck my head, embarrassed that she saw through me so easily.

"Yeah."

She stands and points to my empty plate. "You done Doofus?"

I've been restored to Doofushood! And I had polished off my entire lunch. For weeks I had been too wrung out by Dana, Martin and Abigail to be hungry. Mom had made dinner a few times, but even her cooking didn't entice me to clean my plate. Sitting with Mary I ate more than I had eaten in days.

* * *

Back at the office, Mary buries herself in busy work. Running checks, calling witnesses, even talking to Delia. That takes another hour. Then she's resting her arms on her desk, staring into space. "C'mon Mare, call it a day. You're still recuperating and need your rest."

I know she's been looking at the same file for the last half hour, dozing with her eyes open. "Honestly Mare, you're tired. Is Norah sleeping okay?" And what about you Inspector? Are you sleeping?

Mary runs her hand through her hair, refusing to look me in the eye. "Yeah. She sleeps almost 5 hours at night. Sometimes more if I manage to get as much food in her as on her." She blinks and gives me a wan smirk.

She shakes her head and sits up gingerly. "Umm, I just remembered. Joanna has been looking at preschools for Bug. She was a school principal and knows a thing or two. You might want to call her."

Just the opening I was hoping for. "Could Martin and I come to your place to talk to her? Martin's been asking about Norah." I know she won't keep Martin from seeing Bug. She knows Norah can make him smile.

She blinks again and rubs her eyes. "Sure, I guess. I'll check with Joanna and see when she can stay."

"What about this Saturday – if we're both free? When is Norah's nap time? We could come before or after, whatever works. Would Joanna mind stopping by on a Saturday?"

"I dunno." I mumble. "I'll have to ask her. Look, why don't I just give you her number?"

"Because Martin wants to see Norah. She makes him smile and he deserves some happiness."

* * *

A/N: Thank you for following this story. I'm working on the next chapter, so please be patient in case the muse takes a holiday. Comments aka reviews welcome. Thanks again to Jojo for catching egregious boo boos. All remaining errors are mine.


	17. Dana's Two Cents

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann Chapter 17 - Dana's Two Cents

MARY POV

The hospice isn't far from the Sunshine Building. I combine a witness visit with lunch to have time to visit Dana. The place has fake greenery and a receptionist at a fancy counter, trying to make it look like a hotel, instead of the last stop before death's door. The smell of disinfectant and urine ruin the effect. The receptionist directs me to Dana's room and when I get there she's sleeping. I shuffle my feet in the doorway and cough. Her eyes open slowly.

"Mary!" her voice is sleepy but happy. Not the reception I'm used to.

"Marshall said you wouldn't mind if I came by. And. . . well. . . I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me?" Her black hair makes her face as white as her pillow.

I give her a grateful grin. "For bringing Martin into Marshall's life. That little boy is his whole life now."

"You mean now that he's not engaged to _**that** _ woman?" I can't blame her for being pissed at the woman who won't accept her son. How much has Marshall told her?

"Yeah," I duck my head. I'm responsible for the blowout between him and Abigail. If I hadn't interfered Marshall might still be engaged. "Marshall loves kids. Now he has a son." I brighten my smile letting her know I approve wholeheartedly. "Martin is the latest and greatest in a long line of Mann men. Five generations of U.S. Marshals." I freeze, realizing she may not want Martin in a dangerous profession. "Not that Martin will be one. Marshall would be the first to say he can be anything he wants."

I'm relieved that Dana isn't offended. She turns her head and says quietly, "Martin will be whatever he wants to be. I know Marshall will see to that." Her gaze wanders to the window. "Marshall has a lot of love to give." She blinks. I hope she's not going to cry. "I knew the two of us were never going to be a couple but I'm sorry I never told him about Martin. I let my pride get in the way." She points at me and says sharply. "Don't make the same mistake."

I sit in the visitors chair to avoid her laser look. "Marshall said you had other things going on in your life at the time. You had your reasons. Your parents . . . ." I try to find excuses. After all, I didn't want to tell Mark about Norah. Wait. She knew she and Marshall would never be a couple? "What made you think you and Marshall would never . . . .you know?"

"When we were ' _dating'_ he had this bruise on his bicep." She makes a large circle on her upper arm. "He told me you punched him. That is _so_ fifth grade! Didn't you smack the boys you liked then? You couldn't kiss them, so the only thing to do was to punch them. Besides no boy would ever admit he was hit by a _**girl**_."

She may have something there, but the truth is I hadn't touched Marshall in months. "We aren't like that anymore."

"Of course not. Everyone has to grow up. Even me," she adds sadly. "It would have only taken a moment to call or email him. Martin was my anchor, my reason for going on when my parents died. I didn't want to share him but now I have to make certain he is cared for. Don't let your pride get in the way of Marshall's happiness. Face it Mary, you know him, warts and all and he knows you, and he loves you anyway. You've even learned to like the things you tell him are annoying."

"I wouldn't go that far," I protest. "He can be damn annoying but he is my best friend. I'll do anything to make sure he's happy. That's why I helped him propose to his southern fried lady deputy. How did I know she couldn't cope with an unexpected child?"

"And as it turns out Marshall didn't know that either. After spending years in love with you, he was unable to see her for who she really is."

My head jerks up. _What the hell is she talking about?_ I clear my throat, and try to correct her misconception. "We're best friends." Well we were, and we seem to be heading that way again.

"Mary Sheppard, don't lie to me. More importantly, don't lie to yourself. How did you feel when you learned Marshall was getting married?"

Sheesh, for a sick person she can be persistent. I shrug my shoulder and smirk. "I helped him propose, remember? Does that answer your question?"

"No, it doesn't." she declared. "Not what you did. How did you feel?"

It's tough to lie to a dying woman. I give Dana my honest expression. "I was a um..y'know, sad, a little, but happy for him. I knew it would change our friendship, our partnership. But I was still . . . . Norah is my main concern. You know how it is – alone, responsible for this tiny person. I felt overwhelmed. I didn't have a lot of time for Marshall."

"Bull" she spits out. "That's bull Mary and you know it. You saw your life changing, and Marshall, the pillar of sanity that propped you up for years would no longer be there. How did you **feel**?"

How did I feel? I thought for a moment. "Marshall once said failure is what teaches us things, that it's the part that hurts. I've failed Marshall as a partner." Marshall's angry face when he realized I had told Rafael I was in WITSEC. "I've failed him as a friend." The disastrous attempt to get Abigail to reconcile. "What I've learned is I hurt him. I won't do that anymore."

"How? By ending your friendship? Removing yourself from Marshall's life **will** hurt him. Don't give up Mary. Marshall told me his father said you don't fail until you quit. Don't quit Mary."

Does facing death make you psychic? I grimace and shrug. "I didn't realize how much I relied on him until I couldn't."

"Couldn't or wouldn't?" she demands.

"He asked me to release him," I reply exasperated. "To let him go so he could be happy with Abigail."

"And look how that turned out," she snickers smugly. "He wouldn't have had to ask you to release him if he didn't still love you. He would have been gone _without_ your permission. Think about that Mary. How does that make you feel?" she demands.

"I screwed up his engagement." I hang my head, truly sorry.

Dana shakes her head. "Mary, if you had been engaged to Marshall, how would you have reacted to Martin?"

"Look, you know about Norah. She wasn't planned either. Why wouldn't I love Martin? How could I be such a hypocrite? He's a sweet boy. I'm not just saying that because you're his mother."

Dana smiles wanly. "I know. And it doesn't hurt that he is the spitting image of Marshall."

I nod sheepishly. "True."

"Of course you love him." She states it as a self evident truth. Huh? I'm confused. "Martin or Marshall?"

"Both!" She insists. "You know you love both of them and you're in love with Marshall."

I sputter trying to refute her words. "It's hard not to like someone who dotes on your daughter. Marshall and Martin have good taste." I deflect. "Marshall told you about what happened with Abigail?"

"Yes, but you know Mary, he didn't seem that broken up about it." What? "He said Abigail would do all right without him. The fact that he chose Martin over her says it all."

I didn't want her to think Marshall was so shallow he could blow off an engagement. "He is upset." If she could have seen him that night at the bar she'd know how much he hurt. "He's good at hiding his feelings." Even from me. Ever since the bar he's been acting as if nothing happened afterward. As if we hadn't knocked boots in the bed he shared with Abigail. "We get lots of practice on the job. He has other things to think about now. He's got you and Martin. And, you know he's up for a promotion at work."

She looks pensive. "No, I didn't. He said finances wouldn't be an issue. That must be what he meant." Turning back to me she continues. "But it's more than that. He and Abigail were together for what? A year?"

I nod. "That's about right." It was a busy year - Mark, Brandi's wedding, Norah. Seems longer than a year.

"You and Marshall have been partners for how long?" Didn't Marshall tell her that?

I close my eyes briefly, remembering good times and bad. "Nine, almost ten years."

"Who do you think Marshall knows better, you or Abigail? Who knows him best?"

"Well, his mom. . . "

"Mary, she's his mother. She's known him his whole life. She knows her son, but she doesn't know the man, the marshal, like you do. And Abigail? After a few months, how well do you think she knows him? She knew how much Marshall wanted a child and yet she thought he would just sign the papers and forget about Martin."

Exhausted by her outburst Dana closes her eyes, but continues.

"Marshall and I had a lot of time to talk these past few weeks. He told me about his engagement, about you, about Norah." She opens her eyes and stares at me. "Marshall would never have dated Abigail if you had shown the slightest interest. We all want to be loved, and he thought Abigail loved him."

"I want him to be happy. He deserves so much more than I could ever give him. He's a good man."

"Yes" she agrees. "He does deserve to be happy. What he doesn't deserve is you choosing who makes him happy." Why are dying women fascinated with my love life? Dana starts coughing and the animation leaves her face.

"I've worn you out. I'm sorry Dana. Save your energy."

As I turn to leave Seth appears with Elizabeth holding Martin's hand. "Um... Hi. I was just leaving."

"Mary, there's no reason to run off," Dana insists.

"Please stay," Elizabeth echoes.

"I have to get back. . . ."

Then I see Martin, peeking out from behind Seth's legs. His eyes are big, bright. He must recognize me because he says "Norah?" He lets go of Beth's hand and runs over to the window, searching. He even looks under the bed. When he stops in front of me I bend down. "Norah's not here big guy. She's at home taking a nap." At least I hope she's napping.

"See Norah." He jiggles in place. "Pease?"Crap. I'm going to have to keep my promise to Marshall.

"Ask Marshall to bring you to see Norah. Okay?" I pat his shoulder. "I'll see you soon."

"For goodness sake Mary," Elizabeth exclaims. "Seth and I have barely said hello. I'm sure your boss doesn't keep that short a leash on you." The twinkle in her eye tells me she knows how much latitude Stan is willing to give me.

"Uh. . .umm." What is it about Marshall's mom that makes me feel like a five year old? His Dad I can take. In fact I stood up to him defending Marshall.

"We'd love to see Norah. Marshall talks about her all the time." He does? Seth knows about Norah? Marshall's only seen her a few times, why would he talk about her?

"Uh. Why don't you come over with Marshall and Martin?" It seemed like a good idea until I actually said it. Gawd. What am I getting myself into? A Brady Bunch reunion? I'll have to really clean house. Aaargh.

It's easy to make lame excuses to the adults. "I really do have to get back."

Before I can get through the door, Dana raises her voice. "Come anytime Mary. I enjoy talking with you. I'd like to get your side of the story. I only know what Marshall tells me. Somehow I don't think that's the whole picture."

What? Is she talking about Marshall and Abigail? Beth adds, "I'd like to get to know you too – not just Marshall's stories about you." Oh my God. What has Marshall told his mother about me?

Beth tut tuts. I must look guilty as hell. "Now Mary. Marshall makes you sound like the bravest bad ass marshal ever. He never gives me details of your work, but he has told me every time you saved his life, and there's been plenty of those. I'm so grateful."

"We're grateful," Seth chimes in. I look at Dana to avoid the Manns. I think I'd rather be chewed out by that misogynist self defense instructor than hear Beth's compliments. It's just too damn awkward.

Dana coughs. "Stop by soon Mary."

Yeah, sure. Dana enjoys telling me how to run my life. If it makes her happy, why not? "Sure thing. I'll be back."

"See you this weekend Mr. Mann, Mrs. Mann." I bend down to Martin's level. "See you soon little Mann." He takes my hand and says, "Baby." He pauses. "See baby Norah. Yes?" I give his hand a squeeze. "Yes."

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A/N: Thanks to all of you who have reviewed and are following this story. Thanks to Jojo78 for editing and helping this chapter make sense.


	18. Shannon Shake Up

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann - Chapter 18 – Shannon Shake Up

MARY POV

Saturday afternoon

No, no, no. That can't be the doorbell. No one is supposed to be here yet. I'm running through the kitchen when I spot a dirty diaper on the stove. How in the hell did that get there? I'm picking it up when I hear the front door open and close.

"Sweetpea?" I know that voice. What is Jinx doing here?

"There you are." She tiptoes into the kitchen. "Is Norah sleeping?"

"Yeah," I pause to catch my breath. "Joanna and the Manns are coming to talk about preschools in" I pause to check the clock, "about 30 minutes." Why is she wearing her going to court dress? "What do you need Ma?"

"Joanna told me about the get together. I came to see if I could give you a hand."

Really? I'm still not used to Mom 2.0, the non drinking version.

"Could you take the trash out? And empty the diaper pail? And get the dishes out of the sink?" I gaze at her hopefully, and hand her the sealed diaper bomb. She takes it with a bemused look.

"Sure, Sweetpea."

"Great." I run my hand through my stringy hair then wipe it on my jeans when I realize it's the hand that was holding the diaper. "Then I can take a shower. We can't get rid of the garbage and dirty diapers only to have me stinking up the house."

"Go, go," she shoos me one handed reaching for the garbage. "I'll take care of this." It's nice to have Jinx pitch in but it's still unnerving. Why did she really come?

Getting out of the shower I hear the door open and close. I poke my head out and see Joanna. There's a I'm-up-I'm-alone-and-I-don't-like-it wail from Norah's room. Before I can get the towel wrapped around me, Joanna is heading to Norah's room. "I'll get her." Joanna knows that cry.

I give her a tenuous smile and head for my bedroom. Dressed in jeans and a long sleeve top, I remember the mess in the bathroom. I'm cleaning the mirror when the doorbell rings. I check my face to make sure I'm not wearing any of the dirt. "I'll get it," I yell to the grandmas. It's only when my hand is on the doorknob that I realize I'm still holding a paper towel. I stuff it in my back pocket.

"Hi. Come on in." I duck behind the door as I open it. The entire Mann entourage has arrived. "Seth, Beth, this is my mother, Jinx and this is Joanna, Mark's mother." So far so good. No screaming, warm handshakes. Marshall says hello but he's got his eye on me me. Thanks partner. Make me even more nervous. Martin releases Marshall's hand and heads straight for Norah's playpen, followed by Marshall.

Norah is staring through the play yard mesh at the new people but it's Martin who holds her attention. The little person who is still bigger than her.

"Oh Mary," Beth coos. "What a darling little girl." Despite my best efforts not to dress bug in fru fru pink, the grandmas had spoken. She's wearing pink overalls with a long sleeve white shirt that won't be white for long.

"Mary, please introduce us to your little one." Why? It's not as if she'll remember your names. I try to play nice. At least she has the decency to ask. I lift her out of the play yard. "This is Norah. Norah, this is Elizabeth Mann and this is Seth Mann. You know Marshall?" Norah looks at him. "This is his mom and dad." I can tell she's impressed. She sticks her thumb in her mouth and contorts her little body almost out of my arms looking for Martin.

Martin pats Marshall's leg. He has his own agenda. "Up? Pwease." Marshall picks him up. The kids are on the same level as the big people.

"Hi Norah," Marshall says and is echoed by Martin. "What a big girl you are." He puts a finger under her overall strap. "I should have known these came in pink. It's a great color for you, so pretty." Marshall coos. Martin smiles and reaches for Norah. I can't stand such saccharine talk. But, when it refers to my daughter, I tolerate it.

"May I?" Marshall holds out his arms to take Norah too, quirking his eyebrow for permission. At my nod he folds himself cross legged on the floor, still holding Martin. Martin gets up when I settle Norah in his lap. "Hi Baby," he says. Seth and Beth join Joanna and Jinx on the couch watching Marshall charm the baby duo.

"Her name is Norah, remember?" Marshall prompts.

Martin nods. "Hi baby Norah." He looks up when the adults chuckle.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Marshall thinks I was raised by wolves but I can do the hostess thing.

"Let me do that Sweetpea," Jinx stands. "You get settled. We've got coffee and tea." We do? "I think there's some coffee cake." Since when?

I keep an eye on Norah, ready to intervene. "You were once this small," Marshall tells Martin. He's not buying it. Norah looks like she's actually following the conversation. "I've got the picture to prove it, big guy. We'll check them out tonight. Okay?"

Joanna, Beth and Seth are talking when Jinx returns and sets the coffee on the table. She nods toward the children. "Did you ever think our children would have this in common?"

Way to go Ma. Remind everyone that the kids are illegitimate bastards. "Single parenting is hard, but as long as they're happy it will work." Great save Mom. Does she really mean that?

"Of course it will work." Beth assures her. "Mary has you and Joanna and Mark. Marshall has us, and Mary. You figured it out and so will they."

Jinx hangs her head. We both know she never figured out anything about parenting. Maybe Norah is her chance to fix that.

Joanna and Marshall's parents adjourn to the dining room table. Marshall carries Norah, trailed by Martin. Jinx gets Martin's approval when Norah reaches her arms out for her. Jinx takes one whiff of Norah and hold her at arms length. "Lets get you cleaned up!" Martin's eyes follow them down the hall.

When they return she's holding Norah close. "Since you're here to talk to Joanna, why don't I take the kids to Norah's room to play?"

Marshall eyes Martin speculatively. "You okay with that sport? Come on. Let's go to Norah's room." Martin glances at Marshall then follows him to where every toy in the universe lives.

I knew there was something wrong with accepting Jinx's help. I don't want to be a part of this conversation. I know nothing about preschools and I don't want to sit next to Marshall, but that's the only spot left. I don't want to make a fool of myself in front of his parents. It's too late to make a good impression with Joanna.

"I uh, I really don't need to be here. You just go ahead." I place the cream and sugar on the table.

"Nonsense," Seth asserts. "That girl of yours will be ready for preschool before you know it." When Beth and Joanna agree, I give in. It doesn't hurt to be prepared. I guess.

I end up sitting between Seth and Marshall. At least I don't have to look at him. Ever since **_that_** night I can't look him in the eye. Besides, I can tease him later about sitting next to his mom.

After we are seated, Beth clears her throat and smiles at Joanna. "Marshall tells me you were a high school principal."

"Tough job, makes capturing fugitives seem easy." Seth whispers to me.

"Isn't it?" I reply archly. Did he know Joanna was **my** high school principal? I had kept Joanna and Marshall apart so he never had a chance to question her. He can be very charming when he's trying to dig up my past.

"Preschool prepares a child for school." Joanna begins.

Well duh.

"Some preschools include day care," she explains. "Part of the day is spent identifying letters and numbers and colors, learning to share and play with others. The rest of the time is less structured."

Sheesh. Some of my witnesses need that.

"What's the difference between day care and preschool?" Beth asks. "I have an idea, but I want to hear what you have to say."

"Day care is designed to cover the time the parent is at work. Preschool isn't. Money is the other variable. Preschool teachers require training and certification. It costs more. Day cares need a license. They are usually cheaper. I've been looking for a child care center that takes infants, primarily day care. There were two that also have preschools, so a child can move from day care to preschool without changing facilities."

"We've been looking at preschools for Martin close to Marshall's home and work," Beth explained.

"Sort of getting the lay of the land," Seth adds.

"Be clear about what you want for Martin. Are you looking for academics or socialization? Do you need day care?" Joanna looks at Marshall. "What do you have in mind?"

Marshall chews his lip and looks at the ceiling. Lowering his gaze, he begins. "I talked to Martin's mother about this. We want him to learn, so academics are important. But he also needs time to just be. Time to adjust."

"You know honey," Beth says. "Martin reminds me of you. You had no choice but to run after your brothers, but when they were out of the house, you liked to read or play by yourself. Once I heard you talking and when I got to your room, you were playing different roles in an adventure you created. You had quite an imagination!"

Beth smiles at the fond memory. Marshall's cheeks are pink. Let the cat out of the bag did she?

"Here's the list of preschools we've visited." Beth puts a handwritten paper on the table. Joanna peruses the list. "Distance is only one factor in travel time. Compared to New Jersey, Albuquerque traffic is light. There may be schools further away that could work."

"What about safety?" I ask. This has been my primary concern."Not just a safe environment, but one that we can trust to keep the job confidential. Enforcing the law creates enemies."

"That was always our concern with the boys," Beth admits. "I think it's more difficult now. We didn't have Facebook."

"Children are always leverage," Seth declares.

Marshall adds. "We all know there is no perfectly safe preschool, or school, or work place for that matter. But we need to be sure that it is next to impossible to trace the kids to us, or us to our jobs."

"Yeah, what he said." I agree.

"We aren't the only law enforcement parents in Albuquerque. There are schools that can handle the necessary security." Marshall has done his homework.

"Are there any in Albuquerque?" Beth asks before I can.

"Yes," Seth says. "There are two."

Beth looks at him as if he'd grown another head. He gives Beth a smug grin. "I've been doing my own research."

Good for him. Wonder if Marshall . . . .

"Woodcrest and Albuquerque Academy," Marshall declares.

Seth lifts his eyebrows and nods, acknowledging his son.

"How do you know that?" I scowl.

"I know several LEOs who have kids there. We've" he shrugs. "talked."

"There's one more," Seth adds. Now it's Marshall's turn to look quizzical. "Sandia Mountain School. It's a ways away so I didn't look at it in depth. It might be an option when the kids are older."

"Wait," Marshall asks. "Isn't that the survival training facility?"

"That's associated with it," Seth explains. "But there's also a preschool and an elementary school."

Marshall adds. "That's a possibility. Let me ask around ABQPD and the federal agencies."

"I can help you with that," Seth says. "I know some of the feds stationed here."

A cell phone rings. We all check our pockets. "It's mine." Seth scoots his chair away from the table before putting the phone to his ear.

Who calls a retired US Marshal?

"Beth, honey," Seth returns and puts his hand on her shoulder. "That was Jordi. That ice storm took down the cottonwood in front of our house." Beth eyes narrow. "Yes, that one," he confirms. "It took out the porch and some windows. We need to get back there."

Beth doesn't say I told you so, but she sure looks it. "Marshall, I can stay and take care of Martin."

"No Mom, you've done enough already. You should be there to figure out what's been damaged."

"Well,. . . . " she hesitates.

"Marshall," Joanna interjects. "If you're okay with it, I can watch Martin. He's a sweet boy. Norah certainly entertains him."

"I couldn't ask you to do that Joanna."

"You're not asking, Marshall. I'm offering," Joanna says sincerely.

Marshall looks to his mom. "You're right dear. I should go with your father. The credenza could be missing and he'd never notice."

I'm sure I'm the only one who hears Seth mumble, "Credenza? We have a credenza?"

* * *

A/N: My deepest thanks to all who are following this story. I'm thrilled. Thanks again Jojo for catching goofs. All remaining mistakes are mine. Comments (aka reviews) always welcome.


	19. The End

Sonn of Mann – Chapter 19 – The End

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Marshall POV

I had to be back at WITSEC. Stan assured me the official announcement of my promotion was imminent. I didn't hear anything about the 'complaint' concerning my moral fitness. Either Stan had more mojo than I imagined or the promotion board had done their homework and knew Abigail was behind it. With so many other things hanging fire, my relief barely registered.

I saw Dana every day. She asked me to do something. "Marshall," Dana voice is weak. "Your Mom took videos of me for Martin. There's one for when I'm gone, one for when he graduates from high school and one for when he leaves home. Here's the online account." She hands me a scrap of paper. Her smile is fading. "You can watch them if you want."

That night when Martin is asleep I watch them, sobbing quietly so as not to wake him. The videos are short. Five minutes or less. In the first one Dana tells Martin she didn't want to leave, and would always love him. She tells him how lucky he is to have me, his Daddy. It's so damn unfair.

Although I look forward to being Chief, and continuing Stan's legacy of successful WITSEC operations, it wasn't till I saw the videos that I appreciated the relative safety of being Chief. I **had** to be there for my son. Mary needs to be there for Norah. How can I keep her safe if I'm no longer her partner? I know Mary loves her job. And she's damn good at it. I'm going to run threat assessments on her. She'll complain if I try to give her the tamer witnesses. Delia is a good Inspector but I wish I could pair Mary with someone bigger, stronger, smarter, a better shot. Someone like me.

Before they left Mom had stocked the kitchen with toddler friendly food and filled the freezer with my favorite dinners. I told he she didn't have to cook, but she insisted. Dad child proofed the cabinets. Martin's room looks like a little boys room, full of toys and books. I couldn't have done it without them but I know in the future I will have to.

While checking out the freezer, my phone rings. "Hi Mom. How are the repairs going?"

She sighs. "Not good, honey, not good at all. There's some structural damage to the front of the house that's going to take more time to fix. I want to be there with you, and once we get the contractor squared away, we **will** be there."

"Just do what you need to do, Mom. I understand"

"How's Dana?"

It was my turn to sigh. "It's been 3 weeks. The doctors hadn't expected her to last this long. I visit every day. Sometimes she tells me not to bring Martin," I add. "Thanks for making those videos for him."

"Seemed like a good idea." she observes sadly. "About five years ago Dad made one for you boys. He made a new one when he retired."

A moment of silence ensues while we consider our own mortality.

"If Dana takes a turn for the worse I'll be there," she advises. "No matter what is happening here. You know that, right? If," she clears her throat, "When it happens, call," she commands. "Call immediately."

"Yeah, I will. Thanks Mom." She wants me to know she is serious, deadly serious.

"How are you holding up? How's work?"

A safer topic. I breathe out slowly. "I'm still Inspector Mann. I've had a phone call from the division chief, but no official announcement yet. Stan thinks it will be next week."

"Your Dad and I are very proud of you Marshall," she says warmly. It's nice that she included Dad in that statement. He seldom makes me feel that I measure up. That's changing. He takes his new job – being Martin's Grandpa - seriously.

"Thanks Mom."

* * *

Joanna is the one who makes the new arrangement work. She takes care of Martin as well as Norah at Mary's house. A fair number of Martin's books and toys migrated to Mary's. He called Dana Mama, but had never called Mary anything. Except last night. He called her Mama, mimicking Norah and shocking Mary. Oh god, what have we gotten ourselves into? We talked but didn't decide what Martin should call her.

For a woman who swore she never wanted children, Mary loves coming home to the kids. I stand behind her as she unlocks her front door. There are two smiling kids running to greet us. "Mama," Norah calls. I watch Mary hoist her daughter and tickle her tummy. She's happy. Happier than I had ever seen her.

Martin sees me and puts his arms up. He doesn't call me Daddy, yet, and I'm not going to push him. I'm still amazed to be here, with Mary, our arms full of children. It seems so right.

Norah pats my arm. "Da" she says. "Marshall" her mom corrects. "Mar?" Norah asks. "Close enough Bug."

Martin looks at Mary and says "Ma?" Following her lead, I tell him "Mary, this is Mary." He adds an r to his Ma greeting. "Mar?" He wiggles and I place him on the floor, watching his confused face. He eyes me then Mary. Mar and Ma are so similar. Mary tries to put Norah down but she doesn't want to go, so I put Martin down and take her.

"Hey Marty," she squats next to him. "It's okay, Marty." Her tone is soft, caring. "It's okay. You can call me Mare like your Daddy does." I could see the tears in her eyes as she hugs him and says "I love you. Norah loves you too." I had my hands full of wiggling nosy Norah. "Hey, Bug," I bounce to get her attention. She pats my face, fascinated by my five o clock shadow. "Gentle" I warn. She rears back, almost falling out of my arms. I see a twinkle in her eye as she brings her fingers to my nose. "Honk," I say, making her giggle.

Marty looks to see what is going on and smiles as he watches Norah tweak my nose, each tweak resulting in a honk. Confusion and tears are forgotten.

Joanna bustles into the room, apron in place. "Dinner's ready. Martin and Norah **just** woke up. Please stay Marshall. Martin's been looking forward to 'Nanna's stew' ever since he helped me peel the potatoes."

I look at Mary, who shrugs as she walks into the kitchen. "Sure. Why not? If I know Joanna there's plenty. Is Mark coming?" she asks lifting the lid of the pot on the stove.

"No, he's on a job in Santa Fe and won't be back till the weekend."

Martin is letting Norah chase him around the couch. I'm afraid he'll trip when he looks over his shoulder, but they are having fun, getting loud. "C'mon," Joanna urged. "When they're this noisy they're hungry." We get the kids buckled into their seats then join Joanna at the table.

"This looks great, Mrs. Stuber." Joanna frowns and glares at me. "Marshall," her voice rises in warning. "Joanna," I replied flatly. "That's better," she huffs. Mary mashes potatoes for Norah while I cut the soft meat into small bites for Martin. It's so normal, so damn domestic it feels like a dream.

"What did you say?" Mary asks around a piece of stew.

Shit! Did I say that out loud? My recent dreams of Mary were never this tame, this domestic. "Yumm nom nom," I dissemble appreciatively. Mouth full I raise my eyebrows at Martin.

Going back to work, visiting Dana and taking care of Martin decreased the frequency but not the intensity of erotic dreams about my partner. I imagine her blonde hair fanned across a pillow. Her face and other features I dare not think about in mixed company were so clear, so real. I did not want to talk to Shelley about them but I'm going to have to talk to someone.

"Marshall?" Mary is tugging at my sleeve, them covers my hand with hers. "You okay?" Damn now she's worried. "You were spacing out." I pull my hand away. I can't take her touch right now. Combined with my dream memories it was too much. Mary looks hurt. "Just a lot on my mind," I dissemble. She seems to accept my lie and turns back to dinner.

* * *

The phone call came in the middle of the night. I had instructed the hospice to call immediately. Dana had looked transparent when Martin and I visited that afternoon. Mary had been by earlier. The nurse told me then it wouldn't be long, so the call wasn't a surprise, despite how unwelcome it is.

I let Martin sleep while I make coffee and call Mary. I could barely get the words out, but she understood. "We'll be right over." Forty five minutes later she and a sleepy Norah were at the door.

"Have you called your folks?"

I shake my head no, unable to speak.

"Want me to call them?"

I croaked, "Yeah."

I wasn't surprised that Mary had mom's phone number on speed dial. I hear her say "Hi. Sorry to wake you," she pauses. "Yes. She's gone."

Tucked in her playpen Norah had fallen asleep. I check on Martin and close his door so he wouldn't awaken.

When I return Mary presents me with a mug of coffee. She is nursing one herself. We move to the living room where we watch Norah sleep. "I'm so sorry Marshall," she whispers. We sit side by side, mugs in hand, elbows on knees. And then the million dollar question. "How are you going to tell Martin?"

Dana and I had talked to Martin about it. It wasn't going to be easy, but I would do what she asked.

After sunrise Mom and Dad arrive. Mom bustles about the kitchen. "You've got to eat, Marshall." Yeah, I knew that. I keep an ear cocked for Martin. My parent's arrival woke him. I'm glad to have something to do. Getting Martin dressed and fed allows me to avoid telling him.

Despite his sleep filled eyes, Martin is happy to see Mom and Dad, and smiles when he spots "Baby Norah" in the living room. Mom and Dad's presence wasn't too unusual, but Mary and Norah's is. He ate some of the oatmeal that Mom prepared.

By the time breakfast was over, the sun had risen and it was time to go to the hospice. Martin is quiet and seems to know something had happened. He gave me an inquiring look when I zipped him into his jacket. "We're going to hospice," I tell him. "Mama?" he asks. I shake my head sadly, "No mama. She's gone to heaven."

Mary hovers. Martin sees her sad eyes and knows something bad has happened. Dana wanted him to see where she had been so he had evidence of his own eyes that she was gone. I thought it was cruel, but then losing your mother at any age is cruel.

Mom and Dad decide to drive themselves, but Mary never leaves my side. Where Mary goes, Norah goes. Mary drove. Martin and I squeeze into the middle seat of Mary's minivan. She has a booster seat for Martin next to Norah's car seat. When had she done that?

We arrive at the hospice as breakfast is being served. The sunny day, the smell of pancakes and coffee is at odds with our sad mission. Martin, Mary, Norah and I walk down the corridor to what had been Dana's room. The death march from Star Wars echoes in my mind.

When we got to Dana's room, Martin calls "Mama?"

I pick him up so he can see the empty bed. "Mama's gone Marty. Remember we talked about how she was very sick and would die?" I swallow, my throat clogged with tears. "She's gone." He wriggles out of my arms and runs to check each corner of the room, the closet and under the bed. All her belongings had been removed. The room was empty, anonymous, once more.

He looks up at me and asks, "Gone?" My voice fails and with tears in my eyes I nod. Mary put Norah on the floor where she stared at Martin. Norah mirrors his sadness. She'd sprouted up in the last few weeks and now came up to his shoulder. She pats his chest. Mom and Dad enter the room just as she puts her arms around him. He stands still then burst into tears.

Mary's eyes are wet when we both kneel down. I'm behind Martin wrapping him and Norah in a hug. Mary is behind Norah her arms on mine. The four of us form a crying cocoon. Martin's tears trigger mine and I am embarrassed when Dad hugs me from behind.

Eventually we get up and sit on the love seat. Martin on my lap, Norah on Mary's. Norah hadn't cried but her little face was scrunched up at her friend's distress. Time to get on with it.

"Martin?"I turn his face to mine. "Can you stay with Mary? Daddy's got to talk to the nurses." Oh God. That wasn't happening. He gloms onto my neck with all his might, almost strangling me. "Okay big guy. We'll go together." I pick him up and go verify the arrangements with the funeral home. Dana would be buried in Albuquerque, but a viewing would be held first.

When we returned to the room Mom and Mary are talking. Mom had called the university and placed the death notice Dana had agreed to in the local paper. I see the funeral home's hearse pull in the driveway.

The rest of the day is surreal. Time was suspended. Mom and Mary made sure Martin and I ate. Norah eventually napped at my house. Dad played cars and blocks with Martin. When Norah woke up, Mom read to both of them. Before I realized it was time for dinner there was barbecue on the table, Norah was asleep, and Martin was bathed and ready for bed.

I lay down with him, and held him till he fell asleep. When I emerged into the kitchen, Mom gave me a fierce hug, and when she let go, Dad hugged me. I saw Mary hang back, but Mom pushes her toward me. For some reason Mary's hug was the one that triggers my tears. When my shoulders stop shaking she whispers hoarsely, "C'mon. There's pie. Pie makes everything better."

The day of Dana's funeral was too bright, too cheerful. It should have been gray and gloomy. I hold Martin tight as the coffin is lowered into the ground. He tosses in the rose I gave him and says "Bye" without a tear. I could barely see because of my own tears. Mary is at my elbow, guiding me. Despite her own baby burden, she never lets go.

There is a small gathering at the house afterward. Stan arrives with Delia who brought three kinds of muffins. Jinx serves coffee and Mom put out sandwiches. Abigail didn't come. Now that there was nothing left to do, Dana's death became real. Condolences are exchanged. Coffee drunk. Muffins eaten. Eventually the place is quiet. Martin is clinging to my leg as I face Mary. Norah is hanging onto the bottom of Mary's jacket. Overcome by grief, I fall into the arms of my best friend. When I manage to compose myself and look down, I see Martin laying his head on Norah's little shoulder as she wraps her arms as far as they would go around him.

* * *

A/N: A sad chapter but I'm doing a happy dance because there's another follower for this story! Definitely fuels the muse!


	20. Chief Inspector Mann

Sonn of Mann – Chapter 20 – Chief Inspector Mann

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

* * *

MARSHALL POV

It's midmorning before Inspector Shannon deigns to grace us with her presence. I got a call from training. They were trying to track down their missing student, Mary.

"Mary. My office," I say firmly standing at my office door. I've been Chief all of three days and have been waiting for flak from Mary. Today's the day. She continues emptying her messenger bag, turning on her computer and taking off her jacket but nods without looking at me.

Settled for the day, Mary strides in purposefully, her hips swaying, her hands behind her back. I wave my hand indicating she should close the door. She nudges it with her foot. She doesn't sit, but this isn't going to be a long conversation.

I lean back in my chair and glare at her. "Why didn't you report to training this morning?"

She's doesn't flinch at my accusation, and actually looks like she is the injured party. "You mean law and policy as it applies to the US Marshal Service? Really?" She rolls her eyes. "Do you think I don't know the law?"

So she didn't forget, she purposely blew off the class. "Inspector," I warn sternly. "Every marshal must complete training in law and policy every two years. **You** are overdue. I shouldn't have to explain why you need it."

She rolls her eyes and sighs. "Because I won't have you along to quote the manual?" She stares at me. "I've been preparing for that."

A thick paperback thumps my desk. She crosses her arms, defiant. Are her breasts more rounded, her tank top fuller? After weaning Norah I thought she would . . . never mind. Mary's waiting. She's resigned not angry.

"Here," she points to the manual. "Ask me anything." She nods. "Just pick a page, any page."

I eye her incredulously. I open the US Marshall Manual and Policy handbook. She wants to play the game? I'll play. "How is federal jurisdiction decided?"

"When instances are reported to the United States Attorney of offenses committed on land or in buildings occupied by agencies of the Federal government the United States has jurisdiction only if the land or building is within the special territorial jurisdiction of the United States."

"Are there any other instances that fall under federal jurisdiction? " I prompt.

"If the crime reported is a Federal offense regardless of where committed, such as assault on a Federal officer or possession of narcotics."

She knows her stuff, but this is pretty simple stuff. "Where does the Marshal Service get its authority?"

"From the Code of the United States, specifically 18 USC 3053."

I can't believe she committed that to memory. Let's make this a little tougher. "What does it say?"

She takes a breath, and closes her eyes. "United States Marshals and their deputies may make arrests without warrant for any offense against the United States committed in their presence, or for any felony under the laws of the United States if they have reasonable grounds to believe that the person has committed or is committing such felony."

Not quite word for word, but damn close. What else? "Can you pull someone over for a traffic violation?"

"As much as I'd like to, no."

"Please elaborate."

"Don't say elaborate." She looks aside and recites. "Deputy U.S. Marshals are not authorized to take action relating to traffic violations, misdemeanors, other minor offenses, or felonies or domestic disputes which clearly will not result in death or serious physical injury."

Under her breath she mutters, "That's the law, but not what I want to do with those yahoos who drive by brail."

She couldn't have the entire thing memorized. "What are the rights of a federal fugitive?"

She smirks. "He doesn't have any. He's already been tried and convicted. C'mon Marshall," she whines. "Stan never made me go to these things."

I throw the book on the desk. "The requirements have changed, and I'm not Stan." I enunciate slowly and clearly. I can't have her undermining my authority even though she's Mary.

"Yeah. I noticed," she smirks. "You have more hair."

I will lose this round if I lose my temper. Calm. Calm. "When did you have time to memorize this?"

She inhales and drops her arms. With her irritation deflated she looks tired. "Ten years and all those nights when Bug wouldn't sleep. She'd cry if I left the room. A book light and the USM manual kept me company."

"Mary," I try to reason with her. "These continuing education classes are necessary and required. I'm taking them too." I realize that I look like her supplicant - elbows on the desk palms together. I am pleading with her but it can't look that way to the rest of the office. I put my hands flat on the desk. "If you want to continue working you go to the class."

She half turns, preparing to leave. "Okay, okay already. Do I have to go to this session? Danforth is still . . ." she hesitates looking for the right word. One that will get her off the hook. "He called me early this morning and he . . . ."

"I understand. The witness comes first, but you can't use that excuse again, Inspector." I tell her sternly. "I'll schedule you for the next training session."

I look down to the documents I'd been reading. "And you better be there."

She sketches a mocking salute. "Yes sir, Chief sir."

"That will be all Mary."

I wish it could be all.

* * *

Riding home with her that night is awkward. My car is in for service, and since I take Marty to her house anyway, Mary had followed me to the repair shop and we had driven to work together. We don't car pool because we need our cars for work. And because of Delia. She didn't need any more fuel for her gossip factory. We hadn't spoken since our confrontation this morning.

I managed to occupy myself all day but now, in the passenger seat, I can't take the silence. "What the hell was that this morning? Testing my resolve? Seeing if I can really be the Chief?" I'm a little nervous because of my new position, and Mary made me look incompetent.

She doesn't answer, but I see her grimace.

She stares straight ahead, pretending to concentrate on traffic. "You're not my partner. You're the Chief. You don't need to be hall monitor. You never did. This isn't that kind of job."

She is so frustrating. "That's true, but you see where my ignorance of the Danforth situation got us both in trouble."

"Trouble? You're the new Chief. You're not in trouble."

"Don't be so sure. Your noncompliance reflects on my performance."

"Don't say noncompliance." It takes all my will to suppress the chuckle at her familiar rejoinder. "If that's true," she says, "it's a wonder Stan managed to hang onto his job, let alone be promoted!"

I can't help but guffaw. "Or that I would be promoted after being your partner!"

"Hey!" Her fist connects with my bicep, just like before.

I rub my arm. "You know that hurts, right?"

"Damn straight," she says. "You deserved it."

"Mare, don't you get it? I was promoted because of you."

She keeps her eyes on the road. "You mean since you put up with me all these years you could manage anyone?"

"No! Because of the positive outcomes of so many problematic witnesses. There are no textbook solutions to dealing with people in a time of stress. You knew exactly what they needed to make the change, to accept their new identities, their new lives."

"Phhhttt. You're talking about you and your witnesses, not me." She flips her hand waving off the compliment.

"Your witnesses respond to the wake up call you give them because you give them crystal clear alternatives. That approach doesn't work for everyone, but it works with yours. That was what they needed, and you did it. I'm damn proud of what you accomplished, what we accomplished."

I give her a minute to mull that over. "Do you understand why you need to brief me about Danforth?"

She pounds the steering wheel once. "Are you trying to make Danforth's paranoia my fault? I was doing my fucking job."

"No, I'm not. It's just a fact. And since you mentioned it, I need to know what paranoia little Danny Danforth has. Why did he call you?"

Grumpily she responds. "He thought he saw one of the Minelli gang in Old Town. Said the guy was following him."

"So . . . ."

"Soooo," she mimics. "I went to his place, checked it out, then ran a threat assessment and followed him to work. After our little tete-a-tete in your office I did another threat assessment. Nada. I'll give it another shot tomorrow."

"There is no threat." I state flatly. She was doing her job. If I had known the safety of a witness was on the line I could have made the appropriate excuse and changed her training time. Danny boy has had the hots for her from day one. Mary either doesn't see it or ignores it. She needs to understand the real reason he called.

"No threat that I could find," she admits.

"How many times has Danforth ' _seen_ ' an old associate?" This guy wasn't above creating excuses to spend time with Mary.

She tilts her head back. "Three, this month. It's always a waste of time. He couldn't even describe the guy."

"Why do you think he would do that? Is he that afraid?" Is she really oblivious?

"How the hell would I know. I'm not a mind reader."

"No, but you once said you were fluent in horn dog."

"I did, didn't I." She turns and glances my way. "You think **that's** why he calls?"

I murmur, "uh huh."

She pushes her hair back. "But I'm a mother! My boobs finally stopped leaking, but I'm .. I'm... I'm just not."

"Not what? Not attractive?"

"Oh yeah. Dark circles under puffy eyes, extra pounds in all the wrong places." I stop paying attention as I automatically rebut her statement. Any baby fat she thought she still had was in all the right places. Her breasts and hips are rounder, softer. Zaftig. The sensual image of Venus, the goddess of love.

"Marshall. Marshall!" She grabs my sleeve.

Oops. As if the nightly dreams of Mary weren't bad enough, now I'm drifting into dreamland sitting next to her.

"We're at the shop. Go see if you're ride is ready."

* * *

A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed, followed and are reading this story. Mary's answers come from various DoJ online sources. Federal jurisdiction: U.S. Attorneys » U.S. Attorneys' Manual » Criminal Resource Manual » CRM 500-999 » Criminal Resource Manual 601-699. Authority and Traffic violations: /foia/directives/Fugitive_Investigations/8.3 dot pdf


	21. Down for the Count

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been abused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 21 – Down for the Count

MARY POV

A week has gone by and I'm still getting a strange vibe from Marshall. It isn't because I missed a training class either. _God I hope he isn't starting to remember the night, that night, when I took advantage of him._ Marshall's been going over budgets and parleying with his bosses and signing off on witness reports. Normal stuff. But once in a while I catch him watching me. Maybe he's just zoning out because Martin is keeping him awake nights. He hasn't mentioned it. Norah has been sleeping through the night, so I'm on my game.

I reamed little old Donny Danforth a new one and he hasn't called since. Despite Marshall's contention that Donny just wants to see me, I've continued running threat assessments, making sure no one bad for his health has shown up in Albuquerque.

ABQPD has been quiet. None of my witnesses have had run-ins with the cops and the cops seem to be giving the Marshal Service a wide berth. Works for me. Wonder if Abigail has anything to do with that? God, I miss Dershowitz. I could talk to him.

I can't believe I'm caught up on reports. None of my witnesses have called. Eenie meanie miney mo, to which witness should I go? Hmm. My phone chirps and the screen shows a call from Donny boy. He hangs up before I can get it. That's it. He's the lucky witness to get a visit. I gather up my gear and poke my head into Marshall's office. "Witness visit!"

Marshall is deep into some sort of spread sheet but he pops his head up and looks me in the eye. "Who?"

"Donny boy. He's been behaving himself. It looks like he just tried to call me but hung up before I could answer." I curl my lip and shrug. "I think he deserves a reward for good behavior." I give Marshall a shit eating grin.

"Be careful. Just because he's paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get him," he narrows his eyes, "or you."

"Sure thing, Chief."

Donnie's apartment building is an older two story that looks as if it used to be a motel. I'm circling my wagon looking for a place to park when a flicker of movement catches my eye. I twist to see out the back window. A move I perfected checking on Norah. There's my guy. Donnie is worming between the concrete block wall and the dumpster keeping his hedgehog hair below the wall. He wouldn't be wearing a white dress shirt and trousers for dumpster diving. Something is definitely wrong. Backing down the block, I park and heeding Marshall's warning, put my flak jacket under my shirt. Bullet proof vests - every minivan should come with one.

Clutching my gun next to my leg I crouch and sneak up to the dumpster. "Hey Donnie!"I whisper. He practically jumps into the dumpster. At least I get a chuckle from this visit. "What's going on?" He looks like a wide eyed hamster.

I join him in the space between the dumpster and the wall. "Remember that guy I told you about?" He pants. "The one I thought was from Minelli's gang?"

"Yeah."

"He's here. I saw him coming up the stairs when I pulled into the parking lot."

"Did you see where he went?"

"Well yeah." He rolls his eyes and turns his head. "He's in my apartment. Look you can see the door's open from here. You think I'm out here for my health?"

 _Actually, he is out here for his health._ "Who have you pissed off?"

"Me?" He protests affronted. _Well fancy that_. "I haven't ticked off anyone. I'm a go-along get-along kind of guy." _Sure thing buddy. That's why there's a mobster who wants you dead._

"He still there?" I'm watching Donnie's apartment. Sure enough, the door is open and there's a crashing sound.

"I think so. I didn't see him leave." Donnie jerked when the glass shattered and scrunched himself down further.

"Stay here. Stay quiet and don't move. Your life depends on it." I stare at him, willing compliance. He's shaking like a leaf.

"Okay, yes, yes."

"Good." I hand my phone to Donnie. "Here. It's dialing the office. Let whoever answers know who you are and where we are. I'm going to check on your visitor."

Donnie's apartment is on the second floor. There are two staircases, one on each end of the building. Donnie's place is in the middle. The door is open. I swivel my head checking. No cars, no movement, no people. It's the middle of the day and folks are at work or school. I crouch behind the bushes that pass for landscaping and ease up the north staircase. I look back making sure the little turd is where I left him.

Dammit. I see him, his white shirt is visible. Not good. The perp can see him too. Here's hoping the cavalry arrives soon.

As I get to the top there's more crashing. _Doesn't anyone hear that? Maybe this isn't a good place to stash witnesses_. I poke my head around the corner. The window's still intact. What could they be looking for? Did Donnie take something that didn't belong to him? If they were looking for him they would have left. Is there more than one?

I get to the doorway and follow my gun into the room. A dark grey smudge of a man pops up from the behind the counter of Donny's kitchenette. It's the big ole gun he's pointing at me that has my attention. "US Marshall" I bellow. And then... And then. . . Nothing. The next thing I know, my chest hurts and someone is desperately calling my name.

"Mare," he says. _The voice sounds familiar_. "Dammit Mare, you can't do this to me. You can't do this to Norah." _Norah, oh yeah. Norah. I remember my baby girl, sweet little angel with the lungs of a blue whale. What about Norah? Why are my eyes closed? Why is my face wet?_

"Marshall?" _Oh I recognize THAT voice_.

"Abigail?" That has to be Marshall. Why does he sound so . . . frantic? "Where are the EMTs? I can't find where she's hit."

"Is that Mary?" _Jeez I must really look like crap if she doesn't recognize me._ "They're in the parking lot. My guys are around back chasing a man in a baseball cap and dark t-shirt." _How'd ABQPD get here so quick?_

"Mare?" I feel myself being lifted onto his lap. "Where were you hit?"

I blink, cough and paw feebly at my chest. Without hesitation Marshall tears my good court blouse open. Dammit. He owes me a new one. He's holding me so tight I can feel him inhale. "If this is your idea of feeling me up you need to work on your technique."

"Thank God. She's wearing a vest." He bends down, his nose practically between my breasts. "It looks like a small caliber bullet."

"Yeah," Abigail replies, watching Marshall cradle me. "She does seem to have all the luck."

I hear more footsteps and a new voice. "Detective Chaffee?"

"Yes." Marshall's hold weakens and my head rolls toward the voice. I see one of the boys in blue with my boy in front of him.

"I found this guy hiding behind the trash bin. Should I take him in?" The uniform has Donnie in handcuffs. This just isn't Donnie's day.

"No." Marshall interrupts. "He lives here. Check with the apartment manager. That's his name on the mail box – D. Danforth."

"One of yours," Abigail concludes. _Nice detecting, Detective_. _Glad to see you putting that training to work._

"Mr. Danforth," she addresses the uncuffed Donnie. "Do you have any idea who was in your apartment? Given the way this place was trashed they were looking for something."

 _Trashed. Just like you trashed Marshall's heart. It's a good thing I'm down for the count or I'd trash her. She hurt the man I lo. . . . love? What the hell? That bullet cleaned my clock but good._

"The paramedics are here Mare." He lifts his head to address the EMT. "This is Inspector Mary Shephard. I'm her Chief, United States Marshall Service." He must have his badge out. "Why did she pass out?"

"Has she had any other injuries recently?" the medical technician asks kneeling next to me.

I see Marshall wash his face with his hand. Is that guilt? "Uh yeah. She was shot on her right side" He points to my waist, "about two months ago. But she's fully recovered."

Marshall gently lowers me to the floor so the paramedic can examine me. I feel cold. I miss his warmth. _What is wrong with me?_

Marshall and Abigail go outside, out of the EMTs way. Too far for me to hear their conversation. She better not upset him. She doesn't deserve him.

The EMTs do their thing. I have a bruise where the bullet hit. ABQPD wants the vest, and the bullet. That's Marshall's call. _Oh my God. What did they give me?_ I feel myself fall back, a hand on the back of my head.

Next time I'm conscious I'm on a gurney heading for the maw of an ambulance. _Marshall? Where the hell is Marshall? Oh, right, he's not my partner anymore. He doesn't need to be here._ Just as I close my eyes I feel a warm hand take mine. Two thumps and we start moving. Then it all goes black. Again.

I come to hearing a panic stricken male voice asking, "What's wrong? Is she in a lot of pain? Why did she pass out? "

I never faint. I'm tougher than that. The vest caught the bullet. _What's wrong?_

Marshall holds my hand and swipes my hair back. "Mary," his voice is high, tight with emotion, "you can't do this now. Our friendship is finally getting back on track. Marty and Norah are becoming best friends, like you and I. The Chief / Inspector thing is awkward, but that will smooth itself out in time. Hang on. Please."

 _It's the please that gets me. I've tried to keep an appropriate distance between us. After all, he's Chief. Sometimes I catch him giving me the strangest look though. Always makes me afraid he's remembering THAT night, the night his best friend betrayed him, took advantage of him, had sex with him._

 _Oh God. I can't think of this now._

I feel the EMT leaning over me. "Hmm. There's a streak of blood near her hairline. Maybe she hit her head when she fell. We'll check it out at the hospital sir."

 _I also don't want to think about relocating Donnie and finding the douche bag that trashed his place. If I play possum long enough, Delia will take care of it._

"The pain can't be too bad sir. She's smiling."

* * *

A/N: My apologies for the sporadic posting. The story is leading me where it wants to go. Thanks to all who are following it.


	22. Surprise Diagnosis

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 22 – Surprise Diagnosis

 _MARSHALL POV_

In the ambulance

 _"_ _The pain can't be too bad sir. She's smiling."_

That smile, I remember that smile. I am leaning over Mary, just like now. But my elbows are on either side of her head and our hips are pressed together. My eyes close as our lips come together. She returns my kiss hungrily, passionately. _That never happened. Damn day dreams. I'm going to have to talk to someone about them, make them stop._

"Sir." The paramedic jogs my elbow. "We're here." I come out of my fugue to see the one of the paramedics and several nurses accompany the gurney carrying my Mary through the ER double doors. She's going to be okay. She has to be okay. The paramedic gives me a hand out of the ambulance.

I'm relegated to the waiting room. They won't let me in the room while Mary's being examined. I don't know if she's conscious or not. I call the office and let Delia know what happened. She's going after Donny. I call Abigail's office to see if they caught the guy. She's still out, so maybe they are still tracking him.

The no nonsense nurse at the desk eyes me warily. Guess a man with a gun pacing a rut in their carpet requires watching. Whatever. She's the least of my concerns. I've done everything I can to distract myself from worrying about Mary. I could call my boss but he'll get the action report soon enough. Hell, I've even composed the draft report on my phone.

My thoughts boomerang back to Mary. She didn't seem hurt. I checked for blood. The vest caught the bullet. The bullet didn't pierce the vest. Did it? Why in the hell did she lose consciousness? Was the blood at her hairline a serious laceration? Did I miss something? Is it a complication from her previous injury?

Finally a man in scrubs calls, "Family of Mary Shepherd?"

"I'm her boss." I flash my badge. "How is she?"

"She should be fine," he recites, eyes on his clip board. "We're running some additional tests because she lost consciousness" He catches my eye. "Given the location of the bruise on her chest it could be a vasovagal syncope. The impact may have disrupted her heart causing decreased blood flow to the brain."

"When can I see her?"

"When she comes back from imaging I'll have a nurse take you to her room."

"Doctor," I stop him. "Mary is law enforcement and her life may be in danger."

The doc takes in my serious demeanor, and nods. "We'll put her in a private room as soon as she gets back from the MRI. I'll give that order now." He heads to the desk grabbing a phone and pointing to a nurse.

I'm trying to recall what I know about vasovagal syncope, when I hear a familiar voice calling my name. A soft clatter of boots precedes her. Abigail is still wearing her trench coat. She better have some news. "Marshall. How's Mary?"

I examine my boots not wanting to see her. "They're not sure. They're running tests." I keep my hands in my pockets so I'm not tempted to grab her and shake her.

Abigail moves closer, her voice soft. "I heard what you told the doctor. Do you think someone has targeted Mary?"

I back away and run my hand through my hair. "I don't know. I don't know. This came out of the blue. It could be work related. As far as I know Mary's been keeping a low profile. Norah and work take most of her time."

She sighs. "And Martin probably takes most of yours." She sounds appropriately guilty when she asks, "How is he?"

 _As if you care_. I ignore her question, pull myself together and stand tall increasing the height difference between us. Petty? Maybe, but I need that edge. "Did you get the guy who shot Mary?"

"Maybe. My guys got the man who ran from the apartment. He didn't have the gun on him."

"Of course not. He ditched it."

"Probably. We're searching the area. He'll be tested for residue in any case."

"So he's in custody?"

"Yeah."

"Got a name?" As soon as I have a name I can check if he's a threat to Donny or Mary.

"Not yet."

"Call me as soon as you do." Our business finished, I dismiss her and watch the ER door.

"Sure. Want me to wait with you?"

"No!" Damn! I didn't mean to shout. Mom raised me better than that. "Thank you for the offer, but it isn't necessary."

"Marshall, I ... I'm sorry... "

"Not now Abigail." _Not_ _ever actually. I don't want to hear it._

"I'm sorry Mary got hurt."

That half assed apology makes me angry. She's sorry? After she had the gall to insinuate that I was morally unfit to be Chief?

"So you're sorry Mary's hurt but you're not sorry you tried to sabotage my promotion with a complaint that I'm not fit to be Chief?"

For the first time since she started talking I look her in the face. She didn't know. How could she not know?

"You think _I_ filed a complaint with the Marshal Service?" Her eyes tell me she's telling the truth.

"My folks, Stan and Mary knew about Martin. They didn't do it. That leaves only you." I accuse her, my words sharp, as if they could hurt her as she had hurt me.

"Dad," she whispers, appalled. "My parents knew. I told Daddy as soon as you told me. He knew." She's stunned.

"Father knows best, eh?" I shovel on the sarcasm, but she doesn't seem to notice.

She's shaking her head. "I told him it was my idea to break off the engagement. He wasn't _that_ crazy about you as a son in law. Why he would do that?" Digging out her phone she mutters "I've gotta call."

"Detective!" We've got business to finish. "Is CSI at Donny's apartment?"

She nods, occupied with her phone.

"Let me know what they find."

"Yeah, sure," she mumbles as she walks out of the room. She seems glad to be leaving. She's good at leaving. I relax as much as I can while waiting for word on Mary's condition. Grabbing my own phone I check in. "Delia, how's Donny?"

"What do you mean he's at ABQPD?" That idiot doesn't have the brains God gave a goat. Great. He's in jail for assaulting an officer. How does Mary put up with him? She must have to dumb down Mary speak to Norah speak for him to get it.

"I'm still waiting to hear about Mary. Yes, yes. I'll call as soon as I know." Wouldn't want to restrict the flow to the water cooler. Could jeopardize my morning muffin. I continue pacing, waiting.

Joanna. Oh my God I haven't called her. I dial her number. She answers quickly. Good. The kids must not be too rambunctious.

"Hi. So your day's been? How are the kids? Mine? My day hasn't been so good. I'm at UNM hospital. Mary got hurt. No, no. Not serious. They're running some tests just to make sure. We're probably going to be late getting home. If you need to go. . . Just tell the kids we're working late. If Jinx calls, let her know. Yes. Thank you Joanna."

Called Delia and Joanna. Jinx's is teaching her Twinkle Toes class now. Should I call Mom? If I have to wait much longer I'll be tearing my hair out. Where is the doctor? How long do test results take?

The waiting room is empty so this time the doctor comes out and heads right for me.

"Doc? Mary?" Great. Now I can't speak in sentences. As an experienced medical professional he understands what I'm unable to articulate.

"Mary's conscious. Her blood pressure is on the high side of normal, but other than that she seems fine. I'd release her but she's insisting that one of the tests be redone. As soon as we get those results, she will go home."

I can tell from the doctor's expression Mary has been giving them a hard time. I can imagine her mouthing off to the phlebotomists. That's good. That's normal. That's Mary. I feel my shoulders drop as I exhale.

"Can I see her?"

"Sure, I don't see why not."

"Thanks Doctor Levy." I had the presence of mind to check his badge this time.

"Nurse, please take Mr. Miller to Ms. Shephard's room."

As requested, Mary's in a private room. Despite the walls and heavy door I can hear her before I see her. She's all right. Angry, but okay. Getting shot always makes her angry. Can't blame her. By the time I open her door, I'm smiling the huge grin she finds so annoying. She claims I'm smug, lording it over her with something she doesn't know.

"Just leave it." I hear her commanding the nurse trying to remove her IV. "I'm not going anywhere until you get that test right. It's my body. I should know. Just go. Go do your test thing."

When the nurse peels back the curtain Mary startles. "What the hell are you doing here?"

I glance around innocently. "Checking to see if my Inspector has added any bodies to the morgue." Mary should be grateful for the medical care. I am. "These people have your life in their hands."

"Yeah, well their hands aren't very good at it." She grumps.

"You're still alive aren't you?"

She folds her arms over her chest and scowls. On anyone else it would be a pout, but Mary manages to put more vinegar into it. I hear her stomach growl. Or is that mine? After finding Mary unconscious I lost my appetite.

"Have you got anything to eat? I missed lunch." Oh. She's hangry. That makes sense.

"And what is Madame's pleasure?" I bow and pretend to put a towel over my forearm. "I shall hasten to le snack machine at your behest."

"Don't say behest." There's no heat in her token complaint. "A granola bar, trail mix, something. I'm starving here. I can't recuperate without food."

I accost the first person I see and ask the way to the nearest vending machine. I'm back in a flash with a variety of granola bars, trail mix, chocolate bars and low sodium almonds. If her blood pressure is elevated the last thing she needs is more sodium, but she can use the protein.

If she didn't still have the IV she'd have pounced when I returned. I hand the granola bars to her and make an elaborate show of counting my fingers. She huffs and all is quiet. After demolishing one, she slows down enough to ask, "Did they get him?"

I'm munching trail mix as I reply, "Yeah. He's in lockup and so is Donny."

"What? Why in the hell is Donny in jail?"

"For assaulting an officer of the law," I proclaim. "ABQPD CSI is tossing his place as we speak. If he's got anything at all, they're going to find it."

"Yeah, well, he's clean." Mary insists.

"Really? Then why the fuss? Why did someone break into his place and shoot you? That's a lot of to do for nothing."

My phone vibrates and I move closer to the wall behind Mary where the signal is better. Mary hikes the stiff hospital gown higher on her chest, thinking I'm angling for a better view. "Marshal," I answer. "Are you kidding? He did?" I realize only hearing my half of the conversation annoys Mary, so I continue. "Really. How did you find that out? Ummm sure. Yes, that would work. Thank you." I haven't even had time to pocket my phone before her curiosity gets the best of her.

"Okay Mr. I've Got a Secret. What was that about?"

I grin. "Wouldn't you like to know?" I launch a handful of trail mix into my mouth so it is too full to talk.

She purses her lips, exasperated. "What are you, five? If it's about my witness I need to know."

I'm so relieved to see her back to normal I'm chortling. She sees that I'm enjoying her irritation and damps it, fashioning a sickly sweet smile instead. Oh well, if I can't get more of a rise out of her I might as well tell her. Besides, I'm done with the trail mix and this is too good not to share.

"It seems ABQPD put Donny in the cell next to the perp."

Mary's brows rise. Yeah I didn't think that was a good idea either. Abigail will hear about this. Well maybe not Abigail, but someone at ABQPD.

"The perp yelled at Donny. Donny pretended not to hear, which was hard to believe because the entire jail heard. It seems Donny boy claimed to have scored some primo weed and was bragging about it to his coworkers. One coworker decided to go to Donny's and help himself because Donny wasn't into sharing. Turns out Donny lied to make them think he was cool. You scared the shit out of the perp and he 'accidentally' shot you when you surprised him. Then he ran. You know the rest."

We sit quietly and munch our ersatz lunch. Mary inhales every crumb and glares at me to see if I've been holding out on her. I hold a chocolate bar out of her reach and toss her the almonds. "This delicious chocolaty goodness is yours if you promise to leave peacefully once the test results are in."

"Deal" she snaps. I drop the bar into my jacket pocket before she can snap my wrist.

Finally the doctor comes with the test results. Before he opens his mouth, Mary waves her hand at me indicating I should leave. I open and close the door but stay in the room. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain. Turns out I didn't have to be in the room to hear what Mary had to say.

"No! Do the damn test again."

The doctor's voice is too quiet for me to hear clearly. "I don't care, do the damn test again."

The doc comes out unscathed, and I'm waiting to hear the rustle of clothing as Mary gets dressed to leave. I know her clothes are in there. But when I peak around the curtain, Mary is still in bed, sitting up, still hooked to an IV.

"Mare? Tsk tsk. No chocolate for you."

"What are you still doing here?" She glares at me. Relenting she snorts, "They screwed up the test. They're going to run it again. Third time's the charm, right?"

"So they say. Why wouldn't they let me see you earlier?" She looks guilty. "You told them not to let me in." She's not going to admit it. She's been avoiding me. She used to ask for me when she was injured. She must have decided not to bother because I didn't go to the Denver hospital. Might as well move along. "Have they figured out why you passed out?"She's grumpy, her hair is tousled, and her cheeks are pink from her recent tirade. Hard to believe she was injured. She looks so healthy she seems to glow. I've always thought she was beautiful and seeing all of her in my dreams only reinforced that opinion.

She gives me her fake almost smile, and answers my last question first. "That Vasco de Gama thing."

"You mean vasovagal syncope?"

"Yeah, that. The bullet hit the vest, bruising the muscle above my heart."

"Causing a decrease in blood flow and subsequent loss of consciousness." I finish for her.

"Yeah."

"And as the edema caused by the bruise grew, you blacked out again."

"That's what they think."

"What do you think Mare?" She knows what edema means. Sometimes Mary plays dumb so the witnesses underestimate her and say things they don't think she'll connect. When she does they are taken by surprise. And so am I. I should know better.

She's shaking her head looking down. "I don't know what to think. You don't need to be here, you know. If what the perp says is true there's no threat. Go back to the office Marshall, or . . . or go check on the kids. I'll be fine."

"I called Joanna. She says the kids were napping. She took them to the park. It's okay. I can stay."

"I know you can, but the sooner you get that after action report done the sooner I can get back to work."

She's almost pleading. Ah well, now that she's fed, she doesn't need me. She never did. I pretend not to be hurt as I leave her room.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading and following this story. I re-read some of the earlier chapters and I'm appalled and embarrassed at the errors. Thanks for hanging in there.


	23. Immaculate Deception

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann - Chapter 23 – Immaculate Deception

 _MARY POV_

Thank God Marshall left. This is the last thing I want him to hear. I promised him I'd leave peaceably after I made him hand over the chocolate.

Pregnant my ass! Where did this quack get his medical degree? A Cracker Jack box? My name may be Mary but I'm pretty sure the Immaculate Conception was a onetime deal. I can't be pregnant. Coffee still tastes good. With Bug I couldn't stand the stuff. I have been tired and out of shape because I haven't been able to work out since Denver and I haven't had sex since . . .

Oh God. **That night**? Couldn't be. No no no. My idiot GYN had me go off birth control for a month. I start taking them when I get my period. C'mon, Shannon, think. When was my last period? Aaargh. If I had my phone I could check. If it was any other time I'd ask Marshall. He used to track my cycle. Said it was for safety – his.

That night I tried to be a good friend, to listen and reassure him. I drank enough to relax. He got blasted. Abigail's rejection had cut deep. Miss Goody Two Shoes ALWAYS did the right thing, so how could she refuse to raise Martin?

 _That night_. That night. Did he have condoms in his night stand? Crap, I remember thinking this is Marshall. I know he's clean. It was just the one time. Right. It was just once with Mark.

I pound my head back into the pillow. Oh God. I should change my name to Fertile Myrtle. Two kids? I can't do this job with two kids. If I transferred I wouldn't even have to tell Marshall. He doesn't remember. He's not ready for a relationship. Even if he was, it wouldn't be with me. Why does this argument sound familiar. Dana! God I sound just like her. Where is that candy bar? Chocolate usually cheers me, but not this time.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Finally the doctor arrives with the third pregnancy test results. His smug look tells me it's positive, just like the first two. He starts scribbling and doesn't even look at me.

"I'm not giving you anything for pain. Take acetaminophen if you need it. Call your obstetrician. Make an appointment for an ultrasound. That will tell you your due date." He rips off a page from a prescription pad and hands it to me. No, no, no. This can't be happening. I take it, but I don't even see it. I sit stunned as the nurse removes the IV and wraps the spot in gauze. The nurse leaves but I stay.

"Mary?" Now what? Who's calling my name now? A familiar face peeks in the door.

"Mom? What are you doing here?"

"Oh Sweetie. Joanna told me you were at the hospital. When I called Marshall he said you would need someone to take you home." Wringing her hands, Jinx sits next to me and looks at the paper in my hands. "Were you hurt?"

"Uh, yeah. Just a bruise, no big deal." Without thinking I rub the spot on my chest.

"A bruise and the doctor prescribed prenatal vitamins?" she softly exclaims. She seems to be expect a different answer.

"No Mom. These," I flutter the prescription, "aren't for that. They, um they ran some tests. I, uh, I passed out and they wanted to find out what caused it." I wipe my cheeks. How did they get wet? Am I really following in my mother's footsteps? Two kids? I've tried so hard to be nothing like her. Two kids?

"Mary, sweetie?" She takes the prescription from my hand. Why in God's green earth did I have to get the one doctor whose handwriting you can read? After studying it, she wraps her arm around me and I can't help myself. I turn and sob into her shoulder. So this is what it's like to have a real mom? "Whatever it is sweetie, we'll handle it. You're not alone."

She hands me a tissue and I wipe my eyes and blow my nose.

"I heard the doctor tell you to make an appointment with your OB, but this prescription. . . ." She flutters the piece of paper and gives me a tight smile.

She would have known eventually. Why should it make a difference if she knows now? She's smiling. "You're happy?" Yup, Jinx is happy. "Of course you're happy." I grouse wadding up the tissue and dropping my hands to my lap. "You get to be a grandma again. You're not going to be vomiting noon and night. You won't be maneuvering a body bigger than my minivan. You don't . . . ." I've run out of steam and the tears start again.

Even with my eyes closed I can feel Jinx sit up straighter. "Now Mary, you know you have alternatives. You could just . . . ." Even she can't say the word. Hearing her not say abortion I realize I never considered it. Of course I was sure I wasn't pregnant. But even when I knew I never thought of getting rid of it. How could I? It's Marshall's.

Jinx jostles my shoulder. "I know you. You'll keep this baby just like you kept Norah. "Two children are twice the love," she declares blithely. Hmm. She doesn't seem drunk. "I know you're thinking of all the problems, the complications but in the end, it will all be worth it."

Really? "Do you really think that mom?" After all she's been through, how could she think that?

"Of course I do. I got pregnant with you at the worst possible time. It ruined my career, but look how that turned out. I teach dance! You're a U.S. Marshall! I don't know what you do, but Stan told me you do it well. You own your own home, you have a beautiful daughter."

I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop and it does, just not the shoe I thought. "Brandi," she sighs. "Your sister isn't like you. She has a soft heart and" she grimaces, "not the best judgment. If she wants me in her life, she has to make that choice. It hurts, but. . . ." She shrugs, and presses her lips together in a wry smile.

"So one out of two's not bad? Is that what I have to look forward to?"

"No, no. Of course not." She faces me. "You're not me! You have your faults." I give her a no shit kick me while I'm down glare. "And so do I," she quickly adds. "You kept us together. Without you we wouldn't have been a family."

I had no idea. I figured they came to Albuquerque because they needed a place. They sure didn't come for my cooking. I stare at the ceiling realizing my backside is open to the world. Time to ditch the stupid hospital gown.

"Mom?" She gets up and hoists my go bag onto the bed. She's not looking at me as she unzips it. "Mom, stop." I put my hand on her arm. "Just stop and ask me."

She cocks her head birdlike. "Ask what?"

"Who's the father," I state with certainty.

She stops and folds her hands primly. She looks me in the eye. "Do you know?"

"Of course I know. Do you think between Norah and work I have time to go catting around wrestling cowboys?" There was that dad at the park with a little boy is around Norah's age. Despite the ungainliness of my post baby body he seemed interested.

Oh God. That's going to be Marshall. He and Marty will be the hit of any playground or preschool. All the single moms and most of the married ones will be charmed by that tall drink of water and his precocious little boy. I can see him surrounded by young moms with bouncy pony tails. He'll probably pay Delia to bake muffins for his flock of chickadees.

"Are you going to tell him?" This is Jinx trying not to pry. I appreciate the effort.

"Of course I'm going to tell him." _Maybe_. What, is she a mind reader now? I dread that conversation. I flash on me and Bug in a packed minivan leaving Albuquerque.

"With Norah you didn't want to tell Mark." Jinx explains. "If he hadn't come for Brandi's wedding, I don't think you would have told him."

She's right. Damn it. "I didn't tell Mark because I wasn't going to keep the baby. No baby, no problem, no need to tell him." It was only when I realized that no one could protect my baby better than me that I told Mark.

"Oh well," she puts her arm around my shoulders. "It doesn't matter." I rear back and give her a look. Really? She thinks it doesn't matter? I let her pull me into a gentle hug. "Just take it one day at a time. If the future brings me another grandchild I'll love it as much as I love Norah." So this is what it's like to have a mother?

"Thanks for bringing these." I take the tank top and sweatshirt Jinx hands me. The bruise is too tender for a bra. Jeans, boots and I'm ready to go, checking the room as if I had been on vacation in a motel.

"Marshall had someone from the office drive your minivan to the house. He's so thoughtful."

"Thanks for coming to get me." I don't want to talk about Marshall. I want to get out of here before the nurse returns with a wheel chair.

"Of course dear." Jinx picks up my bag and together we walk down the hospital corridor.

We stop at the pharmacy for the vitamins. The ride home is quiet. I'm tired and don't want to deal with how I am going to tell Marshall. As my boss he needs to know so he can plan on staffing. Maybe I don't have to tell him the rest.

As the door opens, Bug makes a beeline for me, but Jinx intercepts her. Once Norah is safely in her arms, Jinx tells her, "Mommy has a boo boo. You have to be gentle with her. Okay?"

Norah nods, her face a question. "Boo boo?"

"Yeah." I pull down the neck of my tank top so she can see the bandage. She puckers her lips and I realize she wants to kiss it and make it better. Jinx angles her close enough to air kiss my ouchie. The reality of today hits me and I'm dead tired. Joanna appears at my side and takes my arm.

"Have you eaten?" Wow. I grew up without a mom and now I have two. Joanna is even wearing an apron.

"Uh, some granola bars." I can feel them tumbling around in my gut. Ugh.

"How does chicken soup sound?"

I smile wanly. "Just what the doctor ordered." By the time Joanna brings the bowl of soup I've managed to put on some loose fitting pajamas. I make quick work of the soup and Jinx brings Norah and a couple of bedtime books. She settles her beside me. Mom stays and keeps an eye on Norah. It's easy for the rambunctious toddler to collide with my chest.

When Norah's eyes begin to close, Jinx takes the books and Norah. "Night night Mommy," she whispers. Norah smiles and nods her head onto Jinx's shoulder. "G'night Bug."

As the door closes so do my eyes.

* * *

Joanna arrived early enough to make breakfast. I kept my bedroom door closed when Marshall dropped off Martin. I must have dozed because the next thing I know Joanna taps on my door to tell me she's taking the kids to the park. I have the house all to myself. The quiet is oppressive. Too much time to think.

Checking the time in DC, I call the only person whose advice I would consider taking.

Stan answers on the second ring. "Mary! How are you feeling?"

News travels fast. Does he know about the shooting at Donny's?

"I'm okay."A safe nonspecific reply. Does he think being shot twice in as many months means I'm washed up? Should I even be a marshal?

"I wouldn't want to have to call Faber to check on you." Stan says. Maybe he hasn't heard about my latest hospital visit. Good. Time to change the subject. "Yeah, I'm back at work. That's why I'm calling. We, **_I_** , have to take that sexual harassment class."

"Of course Mary, they put that class on the schedule just for you. You gotta stop harassing the witnesses." he jokes.

"Very funny Stan. Um... there's a situation I've heard they are going to test us on and I would appreciate your take on it. Just trying to be prepared, you know." Even at this distance I can see Stan's bull shit radar come up.

"Good for you Inspector. Glad to see you taking the training seriously."

"Umm, yeah. There seems to be a lot of speculation that this class will deal with sex. He coughs, and I smirk. Talk about sex always makes Stan uncomfortable. "One scenario has a Chief having sex with his female deputy. The sex is consensual, but they decide it's a bad idea and never do it again. Is that harassment? And if so who was harassing who?"

There's a long pause while Stan chooses his words. God I hope he isn't thinking that this is personal. "Depending on the circumstances, it could go either way, but if the Chief used his position to coerce his subordinate into having sex, if the subordinate was afraid she'd lose her job or get a bad performance review, that would be harassment and abuse of power. That's a serious charge and could get the Chief bounced right out of the service. That's policy."

There's something else in his tone. Does he suspect this is about Marshall and me?

"What if the sex was consensual, and the Chief wasn't actually in charge of the inspector, I mean, deputy yet?" _Good one Shannon. If he didn't suspect before, he knows now. Maybe not. I'm used to dealing with inspectors, not deputy marshals.  
_  
"If they were peers it could be dereliction of duty. A lesser charge, but serious enough. It drags in favoritism and all kinds of other garbage." When I say nothing he adds, "Does that give you an idea of the answer?"

"Sort of." _What if the two Inspectors were good friends and the sex just happened because one of them had something bad happen and the other was trying to cheer him up?_ "How would this affect the Chief's career?"

"It could result in a reprimand, or if the situation warrants, discharge." His tone changed. He figured it out. I don't want anything to damage Marshall's career as Chief. If this will hurt Marshall, I'm going to transfer before I start to show.

"Thanks Chief. I've got it. Say hi to Lia for me." I can't think. I hang up before Stan can ask any more questions.

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A/N: Thanks to all have reviewed and are patiently following this story.


	24. The Big Bang

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 24 – the Big Bang

Mary POV

The nausea hasn't been too bad. I've been bringing my 'coffee' from home in a travel mug. No one seems to have noticed that I'm not hitting the coffee pot at work. The bruise gives me an excuse to slack off witness visits. Not that I'm cleared to go out anyway. The after action report is done. I gave my statement, embarrassing as it was. Can't believe that kid shot me! Last thing is to talk to good old Shelley. Bleah.

Marshall hasn't been nagging me to make the appointment. I honestly think he's too busy doing Chief stuff. Things have been cool between us since I kicked him out of my hospital room. I'm trying to keep things on the Chief/Inspector level but it's hard with Joanna watching Martin at my house.

Martin is enrolled in preschool but has to wait till the 'school year' begins. When did preschools start having years? He's on a waiting list but the director assured Marshall that Martin will be admitted as soon as they have a cancellation. Of course he will. That 'director' can't wait to get her paws on Marshall. She'll charm Marty to make points with his dad. Once Marty is in preschool I won't have to be on guard when Marshall's dropping him off and picking him up. It's hard enough to act normal at work.

I am so tired of writing reports and editing Delia's. I must admit she's getting better. I seldom change anything she turns in. Hmm speak of the devil. Our water cooler is making a bee line for my desk.

"Hey Mary." I look up reluctantly. "Time for lunch. Where do you want to go? My treat."

Delia knows how to get my attention. It takes more than her hi-calorie muffins if she wants to talk. But why me? I'm still wearing regular clothes, no baby bump. It can't be that. Can it? Last time Marshall knew I was pregnant before I did. Does Delia have that kind of prego radar?

Food is food, and I am eating for two. "Sure. Give me five minutes to finish these and stick them on some other sucker's desk." The other sucker being Marshall. I'll wait till after lunch to drop this stack on top of the other piles on his desk. Marshall's desk used to be free and clear. Now that he's Chief there's barely a square inch of exposed desk top.

"Let's walk," Delia suggests. The weather is still cool, but the sun is bright so I agree. The closest deli isn't the one I like best, but I'm craving their double deli, Marshall's favorite.

"It's good to have you back in the office, Mary. I'm so glad this time wasn't as serious as the last one," Delia gushes.

I grunt. "Me too." Getting shot is no picnic. We arrive at Hello Deli, and place our orders.

Drinks in hand Delia goes to a table in the back corner with a clear view of the door and front windows. She's learning. That's exactly where I would to the wall. We barely unwrap out straws when the counter person calls our order.

"I'll get it." Good. I'm happy to let her be the gofer. I'm so tired, tired and hungry. Delia waits till I have a mouthful before she broaches the real reason we're here. "I'm worried about the Chief." Since I won't be able to say anything for a while, I raise my eyebrows and tilt my head hoping she understands.

"Haven't you noticed? He's got bags under those baby blues. He doesn't leave the office at lunchtime and I haven't seen him actually eat lunch all week."

I'd been avoiding Marshall for so long I hadn't really looked at him. Did he really look bad enough that Delia noticed? Some friend I am. Swallowing the first bite, I decide to bequeath Delia some of my maternal wisdom. "His son is probably keeping him up. Losing his mother is traumatic. Martin is still coming to terms with what it means. After all, he hasn't known Marshall that long."

"So you think Martin's keeping him awake nights? I thought he might be regretting the break up with Abigail."

Nyah. There's no one who would keep Marshall from sleeping. Everyone knows that the wedding is off and Marshall's son is living with him but it isn't general knowledge that Chaffee wanted Marshall to choose between her and Martin. I'm certainly not going to confirm that to the water cooler. She can think whatever she wants.

I cover my snort at the thought Marshall pining for Abigail by slurping my drink. "That ship has sailed." I make my point by waving my drink toward her. "He's sad because the wedding was canceled. He was really looking forward to the party. His whole family would have come. Besides, he's wanted to settle down with the perfect wifey, 2.5 children, dog and white picket fence for almost as long as I've known him." I shrug. "At least he's got a kid and the dog." I wink and smirk. "It's a start."

Delia gives me a strange look. Did I spill something on my shirt? Or does she think I"m wifey material? Is she fishing for more dirt on Marshall and Abigail? She ain't getting it here. "I think he's just tired. You know Marshall. He's determined to do the best possible job here _and_ give Martin his full attention. It's not possible." I should know. I've been doing it longer than he has.

Back at the office I try not to burp up lunch. It tasted great going down. I just hope it stays there. Feeling like Mt. Vesuvius - ready to blow - I head to the head. After a few minutes of staring at the sink, everything decides to stay put. Relieved, I go back to my desk but dig a plastic bag out of my desk just in case. Please God, let me make it to the bathroom if it happens. I'm not ready to tell anyone yet.

Delia is at my desk, again. "Here," I tell her. "Take these to the Chief." She smiles pleased that her reports passed my review so quickly.

"Sure thing," she replies, taking the entire stack.

I stare at the computer screen. All I want to do is sleep. Just for a few minutes. I swear I didn't fall asleep but my eyes fly open when I hear a dull thud followed by Delia squawking, "Sorry." What the hell happened? I shoot up from my chair. Delia's at the door to Marshall's office. Marshall is sprawled on the floor, holding the side of his head. "Let me see," I demand, prying his fingers away from his right eye. Thank God it's okay. His temple and cheekbone are red and will be purple. I look at Marshall, really look at him. Delia's right. His eyes sink into gray bags. His shirt collar is wrinkled. There's a cheerio peeking out of his jacket pocket. Even his hair looks tired. Did I ever look that bad?

"What happened?" I demand, glaring at Delia.

She stutters, "I. . . I was bringing those reports to the Chief. When I opened the door he was bending down. I didn't see him. I swear." She turns to Marshall. "I am so so sorry."

"Get some ice," I give Delia an urgent glare. Turning to Marshall I ask the $64 question. "What in the hell were you doing on the floor Doofus?"

He must be hurt since he doesn't call me on the disrespectful nickname. Marshall's reply is laced with pain and anger. "That pen Stan gave me rolled off my desk. I pushed the pile of folders to get some room to write and the damn thing rolled right under the door."

That pen was kind of the passing of the baton, from old Chief to new, a special gift from Stan. To Marshall it signifies the kind of Chief he wants to be. Carrying on Stan's legacy and expanding it, burnishing it. Of course he'd dive for it. Silly numnutz.

Once Delia is gone I hold my hand in front of his face. "How many?"

"Five" His answer is muffled by his hand massaging from temple to chin and back. "My name is Marshall Mann and I'm Chief Inspector of the Albuquerque office. Satisfied?"

"Yup, that will do." I grab Marshall under the arms and hoist him to a standing position. I hold onto his elbow and guide him to a visitor chair in front of his desk. The office door opens, slowly this time. Delia has a plastic bag for the ice AND a towel to put around it. Where did she find the towel? That woman finds things in this office I have never seen. Marshall puts the ice pack on his face and closes his eyes. I narrow mine and focus on Delia.

Wringing her hands, Delia asks, "Should I call the paramedics?"

"That's not necessary." Marshall replies calmly. "How good a Chief would I be if I can't take a whack?" That is so Marshall. He's injured and he's consoling Delia. I will never understand him. I try to be angry on his behalf, but I'm just too tired.

After a few minutes, Marshall and the ice pack return to his desk. Despite his protests, Delia and I keep an eye on him the rest of the day. If I wasn't afraid he'd remember that night and hate me, I would ask Joanna to make sure he and Martin stay for dinner tonight and every night. It would be even better if Marshall would cook, but that's only going to happen in my dreams.

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A/N: Thanks Meg for cheer leading this story. Reviews do hasten the muse. Thanks to all who are following and have reviewed this story. The muse insisted I write Provo-ked even though this one isn't finished. Provo-ked is a one shot – at least until Sonn is complete. Thanks Jojo78 for catching my boo boos. Much appreciated.


	25. Dream a Little Dream

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 25 – Dream a Little Dream

MARSHALL POV

There's no reason to stifle my yawn as I leave the office. Mary, Delia and the rest of the marshals are already gone. I thought this day would never end. The entire afternoon Delia and Mary watched me like a hawk, waiting for signs of concussion, I suppose. I can understand Delia feeling guilty, but why was Mary keeping an eye on me?

My cheek is sore and red where the door hit. With my luck it will be purple when the Regional Director visits. I haven't told the others that we, really me, are to be inspected by Allison Pearson. No reason to stir up the troops before I have to. After all, she might cancel. In my dreams.

If only my dreams - nightmares- were about the Director's visit. Every night Mary stars in the Marshall Mann erotic theater. Why am I dreaming about her? We're just friends, or we were friends. That's all we've ever been. Why now? I'd fallen hard for Mary not long after we were partnered. She was brash, abrasive and amazingly effective as a WITSEC Inspector. Tired of waiting I finally hinted at a future together but she chose that ass wipe Faber. Despite that we remained partners and friends. She still had my back.

Then I found Abigail - or more accurately - she found me. In a curious turn about, I was the one having frequent satisfying sex while Mary was pregnant and celibate. This afternoon the door jarred loose a tendril of memory or dream. I'm lying in bed, my eyes glazed in satiation as a woman skillfully makes love to me. My dream lover knows every sensitive spot, every secret erotic button. She tickles, tastes and teases me till I'm ready to explode. My body remembers and shudders. A horn honks, reminding me that there are other cars on the road.

Why did I think of that when that door hit me? I can still feel her beautifully formed pink tips grazing my chest. My lover was definitely female, and definitely not Abigail. The sweet satisfaction of that moment ended when Mary knelt down to check for damages. My stunned look had her concerned, the same as my dream lover. My dream lover with the green eyes. Since I became Chief Mary has shown only professional interest. She's Inspector Shannon; I'm Chief Mann.

I expected taking orders from me would grate on her nerves, so I don't give her any. Except for the training debacle she doesn't need me to tell her what to do. She knows her job, and does it. If she was talking to me, I might have known about Donny, and maybe she wouldn't have gotten shot.

I've been busy settling in to my position as Chief at work and as a dad at home. It's only now I realize she's avoiding me. She doesn't even bring her own reports to my office to get signed. She sends Delia. When I drop off and pick up Marty, she's all mom. My friend, my partner, my confidante is gone.

When did it change? She was my friend when she tried to get Abigail and me back together. Was it after she dragged me out to drown my sorrows? That night she bought the whiskey and for once she listened. Is she disgusted with me because I was a crying drunk? I know she didn't care for Abigail, but she didn't gloat when Abigail showed her true colors. Does she think I'm weak? I don't remember how I got home, or why I woke up naked.

Too late to explore now. The way to Mary's is ingrained in my brain. I've been on autopilot since leaving the office. As I park in front of her house Joanna is peering out the front window. I'm still on the walkway when she opens the door and hustles past me. "Sorry Marshall. I've got a dentist appointment I've rescheduled twice."

I give her a smile. "Sorry I'm late. I understand." Joanna has been good for Marty and kind to me. Where is Marty? He and Norah usually tackle me as soon as I get out of the car. "Mary's home?"

"Yes," she tosses over her shoulder. "She isn't feeling well. The kids are asleep, so she's resting." She sports a big smile. "I wore them out at the park!"

"Given their energy that is quite an accomplishment."

I am so grateful Joanna offered to watch Marty. Spending the day with Norah and Joanna is the best medicine. He focuses on Norah and not his missing mama. At home he still looks for Dana. Mary's house holds no painful memories.

I close the door softly. The room is littered with toys, evidence of a good day. We can pick up after dinner. I need to see how Mary is feeling. I do the 'mother shuffle' Mary taught me. My feet never leave the floor so I don't step on anything.

In the hallway I can walk normally. I stop at Norah's bedroom door and peek in. Martin is curled up on his sleeping pad. His arm is over his head reaching towards Norah's crib. She's huddled in the corner closest to him. Her hand pokes out between the bars reaching for him in her sleep. Seeing them healthy, smiling even in sleep, brings a lump to my throat.

There's no sign of Mary. Her bedroom door is open, probably so she can listen for the kids. I push it open and walk in. Her room is empty. The bed unmade. Where is she? She wouldn't leave the house with the kids napping.

Her bathroom door is closed. I put my ear on it warily. I've already been hit by a door once today. There's a muffled huk uk huk sound coming from inside. I keep my voice low so as not to wake the kids. "Mare, you okay?" No response. "Mary, answer or I'm coming in." Please God don't let it be complications from her shootings. Getting hit so close to the esophagus can cause nausea and vomiting. Did she pass out again? "Mary, Mare. Talk to me."

"Stay out Marshall," she chokes out. At least she's talking. As usual it's nothing I want to hear. "Did you black out?"

She coughs and answers with a strangled "no," then huffs. "Give me a minute." The toilet flushes and I hear water running. She's sick? She seemed okay at the office.

I'm uncomfortable sitting on her bed invading her inner sanctum. The bathroom lock clicks and the door opens on an exhausted Mary. Her face is pink, her eyes watery and her hair every which way. She's holding her hand close to her mouth, wary of an instant replay. She has a glow that makes me want to check her temperature. She's beautiful.

Before she's through the doorway she makes a u turn. I leap off the bed, grabbing the edge of the door before she can slam it in my face. I'm going to help her even if she doesn't want it.

Ignoring me, she quickly kneels to worship the porcelain. I gather her golden hair and rub her back. I spy a washcloth and a glass for water that she'll need. Mary can be vicious when she's sick. Hell, she's prickly when she's well. I discovered years ago that she's really angry at her body for betraying her. Her bluster and barbs don't mean anything. I've weathered worse.

She flushes and kneels up, drawing in big shuddering breaths. "For God's sake Marshall, can't you let me puke in peace?"

"Mare, you're sick."

"Thanks for the alert numnutz!" She shakes her head to clear it. "I think I figured that out." Her red rimmed eyes glare with less than her usual intensity. She puts her arm on the toilet, attempting to stand. I grab under her arms – just as she braced me this afternoon. She's sweaty and shaky. I steer her to bed where she plops down and flops back.

"Must be something I ate," she croaks to the ceiling. Yeah, right. Mary has a cast iron stomach and prides herself on being able to eat anything that doesn't move too fast. She pushes up on her elbows. "Delia and I went to the deli for lunch. Must be the pastrami 'cause it just came back. Oooo." She lies back moaning and massaging her stomach. She could use that wash cloth and water now.

I'm just over the threshold of the bathroom when my right foot slides out from under me and, I go down. My head just misses the tub, but not the wall. I scrape my scalp along the wall as I fall. It burns. In 2008 twenty one million people were injured in bathrooms. My eyes close as I grimace. At least my memory's intact.

"Marshall, Marshall!" Mary has dragged herself off the bed. I must be unconscious or dreaming because she is straddling me. My heart sinks as the neck of her oversize sweatshirt dips exposing her recent bruise. Awe, do we have matching black and blue marks? Hers is already purple. Wonder if she'll want to compare?

I feel strange, but what I want to feel is right in front of me. On either side of the bruise are the 'girls.' They are round and soft. They generous enough to smother me but what a way to go.

"Did you say something about the girls Doofus?" She sits up, pulls her shirt back so the neckline moves up. The girls are out of sight and I miss them already.

What did she say? That wasn't in my dream. Wait! The bruise wasn't in my dreams either. My eyes are closed as I attempt to figure out what's real and what's not. I feel the warmth of her core through her sweat pants as she straddles my hips and the rest of my anatomy responds. She leans over me, calling my name, caressing my cheek. My hands are reaching for the girls.

Mary bats my hands away and my eyes open wider. Gulp! They were open. This isn't a dream. My pulse races as I'm torn between lust and fear. I want to hold her, hold them and feel their weight, their softness but she'll punch me. To my relief she ignores my attempt to grope her. Guess I get a pass because I'm injured.

"You've hit your head, again. Let me see how bad. Jeeze Marshall, how many hits can your noggin take in a day? How many of me do you see?" She tosses the toy that caused my downfall, a blue oval, into the tub.

I'm light headed but I recognize it. It's the zero from the bath time number set I bought for the kids. I lift my head. Mary's fingers examine my scalp, bringing temptation closer. I bite my lip restraining my desire to lick her sweet pink tips. I feast my eyes remembering how I teased her about the freckle on her right breast.

What! That was in my dream, and yet here's that freckle literally in front of my nose. Are my dreams and memories jumbled from being hit on the head twice in one day? I would remember if Mary and I had made love. Mary would have told me. Wouldn't she? She's never been shy about sex. Right now she's studying me like a paramecium under a microscope. She must not like what she sees because she stiffens and sits up.

She quickly yanks her hand out from behind my head nearly bouncing it on the wall. She scoots down my legs. My body mourns the loss of her heat. She crosses her arms and glares. "You remember." It's not a question. It's a statement, an accusation, but I have no idea what I'm guilty of. Should I apologize?

Instead she does something she never does. She apologizes. "I'm sorry Marshall."

WTF? I squint, trying to ignore the throbbing of my big and little head. "What for?" She's done nothing that warrants an apology. It was my fault I slipped, and what happened just now is my fault too.

She closes her eyes, sighs. "You know. That night." The night she tried to get Abigail and I back together by tricking me into coming into the office? She already apologized for that.

"What night?" Since Abigail left I've had dreams of Mary and me, together, in bed, making love. Having her hovering above me just now triggered a memory of all those detailed, explicit, and x-rated dreams. If it really happened and we actually made love why would she apologize? Lying on her bathroom floor isn't the best place for this, but if it keeps her talking, it's a small price to pay.

"I'm sorry Marshall. That night at the bar . . . . I've never seen you that wasted." She says THAT NIGHT in capital letters, an event of significance. What is going on in that brain of hers? What does she know about that night that I don't? That night I mourned the demise of my engagement by drinking an entire bottle of bourbon.

Mary's looking anywhere but at me. "You were angry and sad and you just kept knocking them back. You wanted a second bottle, but I talked you into going home. You walked out under your own power, so I figured you were okay – other than a hangover the size of Texas the next morning." Still on the floor she scoots against the tub so we aren't touching. "When we got to your house, I got you to bed and took your boots off. When I went to loosen your collar you took my wrist and. . . . you." She smiles wryly and looks at me, her eyes soft. "You know, you are strong for a string bean. I forget just how powerful you are."

Strong? Powerful? How does that fit? I must have hit my head harder than I thought. She isn't making any sense. "Go on." I prompt her. "What happened next?"

Mary voice is tinged with sorrow, and if I didn't know better, fear. "That night you needed a friend, and for once in my life I tried to be that friend. I wanted to give instead of take."

"I grabbed you?" In my dreams Mary came willingly. Did I force her? Is that what she means? I would never ever force myself on any woman, but especially not Mary. The image of a pair of testes on a silver platter cools my ardor quite effectively. In my dreams she took control of our lovemaking, but I was more than okay with that. After all they were only dreams. Right?

"Mare, did I. . . ?"

She shakes her head, knowing that I'd think the worst. If I forced myself on her, why is she apologizing? Was the sex that bad? Oh no. Please, not a pity fuck.

"Far from it cowboy," she reassures me. "It was consensual, and despite the booze, quite a performance. No Viagra necessary." She smirks and looks at me. "You talk, a lot." She shakes her head.

I try to snort dismissively, but it's more of a whimper. How can she be so calm? Guess it's no big deal for her. Figures, my dream of making love to the woman of my dreams comes true and I can't even remember it! She never cared for me, never loved me the way I love her. "You never. . . . You never wanted me." It's sad but true and admitting it is humiliating. My thoughts are going round and round like a hamster in its wheel. Mary never considered me cowboy material.

Mary can see my distress and in typical Mary fashion she gets right to the point. "For once, just once, I wanted to give you what you needed. As usual, I fucked it up. That night we had sex, in your bed, in your house. You and me."

It was real? My mind stutters, and my mouth follows suit. "We, we, we . . . ." I point to her, then to me.

"All the way home, partner," she replies. "This little piggy," she looks at my crotch, "went all the way home." She starts to get up.

"No, no, come 'ere. I can't take this anymore," I pull her down over me. If she let me make love to her that night, I can do so much better now. My hands reach behind her head, capturing her lips. I remember her taste, her scent. I shudder as I run my hands down her ribs to her hips, only to rub them up and under her shirt. I make quick work of her sweat shirt wanting to see that freckle again, to prove to myself this is real. I gently run my finger to the spot, my spot. "Did you draw this to distract your lovers? Cuz It's definitely distracting me." I open my mouth to taste it.

And just like in my dreams, the alarm goes off. But this alarm says "Mama! Mama!" Norah's awake and I hear Martin talking sleepily. Mary is yanked out of my grasp, out of my dream.

"Mare, we have to talk about that night and this."

She rolls her eyes and mutters as she puts the sweatshirt back on. "Only you would rather talk than have sex."

"As if we had time now for either," I groan. We will talk. I'll see to that. Before answering Norah's call, Mary does a quick assessment. "Pupils are even." She holds her hand in front of my face for the second time today.

"Five fingers. Marshall Mann, Chief of the Albuquerue WITSEC office. Yadda yadda."

She rolls her eyes, stands and offers me her hand. The tile floor is cold and the kids are awake. Before I can get up Mary is gone and there's a little face staring down at me.

"Da-ad, um . . . Daddy?" For the second time in as many minutes my heart beats a rapid tattoo. Marty called me Dad! I've been waiting for this moment. It has to be his decision or it doesn't mean anything. He looks worried. "What are you doing on the floor?"

"It's okay, buddy. I fell, but I'm okay." I sit up and open my arms, grateful when he comes for a hug without prompting.


	26. Mary Queen of Denial

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann - Chapter 26 – Mary Queen of Denial

MARY POV

"C'mere Bug. Mama's got you." I cradle Norah in my arms and check her diaper. It's sopping. _Leak proof my ass._ As soon as she's dry and dressed Norah aims for my bedroom. She hears her playmate and wants to see him. Joanna says they play together well. Their age difference helps because their interests and abilities are different. And the fact that Marty has his father's gentle helpful personality. Because he's so much bigger, Norah is in awe of him.

I hoist her on my hip. "Let's go see Marty." I crane my neck to look her in the eyes. She's straining against my arms babbling mar, mar, maa which isn't Mama as much as I'd like it to be. It's Marty she wants.

Bug peers down at Marshall who is wrestling with his son on the bathroom floor. She smiles and strains to get down and join the fun. I carefully deposit her on the floor. All my care is for naught because she launches herself at Marshall. It's a good thing Marshall can multi task. He catches her and makes her giggle while Marty tries to tickle her.

"Let Uncle Marshall get up Bug." I watch him carefully, ready to jump in if he's unsteady. He straightens his jacket and pulls down his shirt, smiling at Norah who is demanding up. Marshall takes her hand and Marty's and leads them out to the toy room, which used to be my living room.

Sitting on the couch, Marshall asks Marty, "What did you do today?"

"We went to da park!" Marty announces excitedly. Norah echoes, par, par just as enthusiastically.

"What did you do at the park?"

"We went ona swings, ana slide ana merry go round." I cross my arms and lean against the wall watching the Marshall and Marty show. That's the longest sentence I ever heard come out of his mouth. Figures. He's his father's son, a talker for sure.

Norah tires of listening to them and grabs my knee. She pouts. "You want something to eat?" I ask her, signing and saying eat. She nods and points to the jars of baby food on the kitchen shelves.

"Let's see if Grandma Joanna made something special for us." I pick her up and mosey toward the fridge. "Oh look, here's a container with your name on it!" Actually it just says kids, but I get the message. Joanna has cut apples and cheese into kid size pieces.

"Mama's got to put you down Bug so I can make your dinner." I get a pan for the dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets. "Hey Marty!" He turns and toddles to me, but his eyes are only for Norah. I bend down. "Would you like chicken nuggets?" He nods repeatedly. Guess that's a yes. I get carrots to add to the apple and cheese. Norah sees that I am attending to her demands and goes to play with Marty. Who am I kidding? She's going to play with the big kid, Marshall.

We sit the kids in their chairs and hover while they eat. They must both be having a growth spurt because they're putting away the food like there's no tomorrow. After dinner they are full and drowsy.

"Mare?"

Oh, Marshall. I almost forget he was here. I suppress a groan. He's going to want to talk about what happened in the bathroom.

"I'll bathe the kids, you order dinner." He knows better than to ask me to cook.

I brace myself for the inevitable. He wants to stay. This is it, I'm going to have to tell him. I wish there was another time, but this will have to do. Rifling through the take out menus I find myself craving salad. I always make fun of Marshall for eating rabbit food. This kid is his revenge. I settle on a rib joint nearby that has surprisingly good salads. Marshall can pick it up while I read the kids a story.

I hear the bathroom door open and see Marshall holding two towel wrapped kids. "PJ's Mom?" he asks. Quite a few of Marty's clothes have migrated to my house. I toss some small rocket ship pajamas at Marshall and take Norah to the changing table. As soon as they're dressed and in Norah's room, Marty pushes several books at Marshall. Marshall sits on the floor and Norah climbs into his lap. Marty sits on the other side, eagerly awaiting their night time adventure.

I sigh. "Guess I'm picking up dinner."

I hate the smug look on Marshall's face when Marty says, "Read please." Norah claps her hands. "I do the voices," Marshall smirks. I resent his 'nyah nyah' tone and glare at him. I know when I'm beat. I grab my keys and a plastic bag in case the smell of food upsets my delicate tummy. I don't want to clean my vomit out of the van. Norah's spit up is bad enough.

On the way I stop for a bottle of Marshall's favorite whiskey. He's going to need it. I could use a drink, but that's not going to happen. Our order is ready when I get to the restaurant. I'm happy to limit my exposure to food odors. I escape to my van and drive home slowly, postponing the inevitable.

Marshall's lying in wait and opens the door before I can get my key out. He takes the bags and eyes the liquor. "Planning on getting me drunk so you can have your way with me Mare?"

"In your dreams." _Lame Mary, lame_.

"Funny you should say that," he begins. _Hooboy. This is going to be a long night_.

I hold up one finger. "Hold that thought. Let me say good night to Bug and Marty."

"We finished the last story a few minutes ago. Their eyes were closed when I left."

I tiptoe into Norah's room, careful not to step on Marty. The night light shows Norah's eyelids fluttering as I whisper good night and press a kiss on her cheek. Looking down I see two blue eyes. "Good night Marty. Sweet dreams." I blow him a kiss.

"G'night Mom." I almost slam the door. Did he say Mom? Nyah. He must have meant Mare and just didn't articulate the rest. Articulate? Right. Damn Marshallpedia, infecting my vocabulary. Now is not the time to figure out what Marty meant and Marty isn't the one who needs talking to.

Marshall's scooping salad into a bowl when I get to the kitchen. "Hey, that's mine!"

His eyebrows rise. "When did you start eating salad?" he asks around a mouthful. "We can share."

I cross my arms and narrow my eyes. "Or not," He gives in, leaving the bulk of the salad for me. "Does salad seem like a good idea for your upset stomach?" I grab the salad container and a fork and pretend to attack it with my usual vigor.

After dinner I dawdle cleaning up till Marshall comes in and finishes. I watch curiously as he empties the kitchen trash and takes the waste basket with him to the living room. Pushing aside the stuffed animals he sits on the sofa puts the waste basket in front and pats the space next to him. I glare at him out of the tops of my eyes and sit on the chair across from him. I rise to get the whiskey when Marshall demands, "Sit."

As unaccustomed as I am to obedience, I sit and put my elbows on my knees, my chin in my hands. He moves the basket close to me. Ever the boy scout. Always prepared.

"Tell me. What happened that night? You said you wanted to give me something I needed."

Is he angry? Wish I had the whiskey. Wish I could drink the whiskey.

When I don't respond he says despondently, "It was a pity fuck, right?"

"No," I whisper shout. "It wasn't. You were sad and angry. I wanted to make you feel better."

"And how did you plan on doing that, Miss Sunshine?" he demands acerbically.

I splutter. "By getting you loosened up enough to spill your guts. That's all I had in mind – listening. Giving you a chance to vent. Empathizing." His eyebrows rise. "You're not the only one who knows big words," I mutter.

Marshall's quick at filling in the blanks. "But what really happened is that when we got to my house, we fell into bed and made love." He stares, waiting for me to deny it.

"More or less." I shrug. This isn't helping my dinner stay down.

"What do you mean more or less? Did we or didn't we?"

"Oh we did," I nod my head, looking straight ahead. "several times."

He tilts his head back, eyes to the ceiling with a shaky sigh. "So you felt sorry for me."

I want to tell him it was love, but I don't know how. "I never pity you. The truth is I admire you, and I love you. You're my friend, my only friend and the best partner I'll ever have."

Marshall ignores my lame profession of almost love. Addressing the ceiling he sighs. "I've been having dreams of making love to you for months. Actually, I've had dreams of you for years, but these were so detailed, so explicit. I didn't know what they meant. I even made an appointment with a psychiatrist!"

Elbows still on knees, my head pops up. "Not Finkel!"

"No, of course not." He grimaces. "I'm not about to share the graphic details of my sex dreams with Shelley.

Of course. I straighten up and look him in the eye. "Let Dr. Shannon explain it. You suppressed the memory because it was your worst nightmare. Instead it surfaced in your dreams."

He yanks himself forward, taking my hands. "It **wasn't** ," he insists. "It was too good to be true, that's why I was sure it was a dream. When you came to check on me in the office, your face above mine triggered something. I think it's a memory." He looks away and mumbles. "Figures, I finally make love to the girl of my dreams and then forget it happened."

I pull my hands out of his grasp. Girl of his dreams? Girl of his nightmares is more like it.

 _Marshall doesn't love me and here's the proof._ "When you didn't mention it afterwards, I figured you wanted to forget it. If that was the way you wanted to play it then I'd go along. The last thing I wanted was to cause you grief."

 _I knew it. Marshall doesn't deny wishing it had never happened._ "Then you went on the witness transfer from hell, got shot, and I had to move Dana and Marty. We never had a chance to talk. I was sure they were dreams. With Abigail out of the picture, my subconscious reverted to the tried and true woman of my dreams."

That's the second time he's said that. "You mean nightmares."

He glares, purses his lips and shakes his head. "Don't you get it?" he says earnestly. He tries to take my hand, but I pull away. "I've been in love with you since the Horst transfer incident. Besides having a killer body and being a crack shot, you were smart and brave, foolhardy brave. You scared me. Despite the odds you figured a way out, with no help from me. You saved my life and you made me promise to live – for you. And after that I did – live for you. You just never seemed to notice."

I always knew I hurt him but his personal life was better without me. "I noticed, but we were partners. I didn't want to lose the best partner I've ever had. We did good work. The other. . . . It's not that it wasn't important, it was just too risky. Besides, you deserve better." _It made perfect sense then and it still does. He's got to see it._

"Don't I get a say?" I shush him and motion to keep it down. We don't want to wake the kids. Norah sleeps soundly, but I'm not sure how deeply Marty will sleep away from home.

"Of course you do. You had your say. Your 'say' was Abigail." I get up and start to pace. I can't sit still anymore.

He grumps. "And look how that turned out!"

"C'mon Marshall, if it wasn't for Marty you'd be on your honeymoon. She was perfect for you, perky, positive, passionate about the job." _And not me._

"So if you're my friend, my best friend, why didn't you come to any of our gatherings? It was weird. All her friends noticed that Abigail's boyfriend didn't have any friends. How could I tell them that my best friend was too busy?" He turns and warns me. "And don't use Norah as an excuse."

I swirl around to face him. Now I'm angry. "Seriously? You wanted me to come and what? Show her friends what a brass balled bitch your partner is? I didn't want to embarrass you. If they're in law enforcement they've already heard enough about me and I know it's nothing good."

He shakes his head, denying what I've said.

"It didn't fit with keeping the low WITSEC profile. Besides, Abigail didn't really want me there, did she?"

"That's not the point, Mare. I wanted you there. You had all those opportunities, even before Abigail, to give me what I want, why do it that night?"

Is he for real or have those knocks on the head damaged his brain? "Why? For one thing, Abigail's gone. You're foot loose and fancy free, fair game. Two, you, my best friend, were hurting. That night, you wanted me. You said it would make you happy. So. . . ."

Marshall sighs, and tries a different tack. "Did you ever see the two of us together?"

 _How honest can I be? What the hell_. "Yes, but only after I couldn't have you. It took me months to recognize that I was jealous. And by then you and Abigail had moved in together and I was housing a baby elephant in my uterus."

"So you were interested." He's watching me. This is important Shannon, don't screw it up.

"Yes. Even when we fought you fascinated me."- "Appalled you mean."-

"All the marshals I knew were macho bastards. I worked hard to be respected if not accepted. I made damn sure it wasn't because of my blonde hair or boobs. I never belonged, but I was used to that."

"Stan did say your boss tried to. . . "

I laugh, "to get rid of me. Yeah he did, but he needed me. I was the one who could track fugitives. I knew where to look, how to find them." I shrug. "It wasn't really that hard. The hard part was convincing the rest of the team."

Marshall chuckles. "You mean they didn't want to listen to Mary Sunshine?"

"Nope." I turn toward him.

"When I worked FTF I never dreamed of owning a house, having a daughter, or living here." He's got to see the impact he's had on my life. "I came to Albuquerque because you asked me. No one ever wanted me before. I always fought my way in."

"Growing up I was sure my father left because I'd done something wrong. I wasn't good enough. And raising Brandi," I sit down and I roll my eyes heavenward. "I know I made a lot of mistakes."

"You were a kid yourself," Marshall protests. He's right, but that's no excuse in my book.

"I'm determined not to make the same mistakes with my children."

"Children?" _Caught that_ _did you Marshall? Ooops_.

Afraid I'm going to hurl, I start getting up. Marshall reaches to stop me. Dumb move. The look on my face clues him in and he picks up the basket just in time.

Finally there's a lull in my puking. I don't think I'm done, but I can catch my breath. Marshall has other ideas. "Mare, let's get you to the bathroom." We make it there before the rest of dinner returns. Marshall is rubbing my back and cooing. It should feel stupid, but it's soothing.

"What is going on with you Mare? I'll call Jinx to stay with the kids and we'll go to the ER. This isn't right. That bullet you took in the vest could be more serious than they thought."

I'm sweating and my stomach is roiling. The toilet bowl is my anchor. Being so close to Marshall isn't helping. His touch is comforting one minute and arousing the next. Out of patience, I think about yelling at him, but dial it down remembering the sleeping kids. "I'm not sick Doofus, I'm pregnant!"

Marshall stiffens. For the second time today, he's speechless. It would be amusing in any other situation. All these years and I finally found a way to shut him up.

"I didn't realize you were dating anyone." _Does he think I've found another cowboy to warm my bed? Poor Marshall, he's so clueless it's sorta sweet_.

"Dating," I scoff. "I'm not **dating** anyone."

"Then who. . . .?" He stops and gulps, reverting to Chief. "That's okay. It's none of my business."

I kneel up, I'm sure my eyes are red and swollen. "Actually, it is your business," I say calmly.

He's staring into my eyes but not seeing me. I can almost see the wheels turn. I should because I'm room renting. _He's counting the weeks since we had sex and when he found me draped over the toilet._ He points to me and then himself and finally manages to speak, or should I say squeak?

"But we were only together that one night. A night I didn't even know about until tonight!"

Silly man. I smile. Silly Mann. "That's all it takes. I've had the proof living with me." I mean Norah. He didn't know Mark and I only had one night. I was so upset, so jealous after seeing Marshall with Abigail. I jumped Mark as soon as we were alone. We were always good at sex. It was nothing like making love with Marshall, although I have to admit, the results are the same.

"Why did you leave? I woke up alone too hung-over to think about the night before."

My knees are complaining. My bathroom tile is hard. Hoping I'm done throwing up I sit on the floor gazing up at my confused partner. "So my dreams are real?" He sits next to me, our backs against the tub.

"Yeah well your dreams are about to become a nightmare. This little bun in the oven could get you canned. Abigail couldn't get you booted out of the service but this," I pat my burgeoning baby mound, "might just do the trick. Sexual harassment, dereliction of duty, misuse of authority. Whatever they decide to call it could result in your censure or dismissal."

Marshall's beaming. "Mare, Mare, don't be like that."

"Like what? It's true." _Why is he smiling? This affects both our jobs_.

He takes my hands, pulling me toward him. "You make it sound like a terrible thing. Babies are a gift, a wonder." He focuses on my eyes. "Is it me? Don't you want to be with me?"

"Wait how did you get from censure to that? Of course I want to be with you. It's been a long time coming, but I finally get it."

"Get what?"

"I love you, Marshall Mann."

* * *

A/N: Thanks Jojo78 for fine tuning this chapter. Thanks Meg for encouraging the muse. Thanks to all of you following this story that seems to never end!


	27. Dreams Come True?

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 27- Dreams Come True?

MARSHALL POV

 _Previously on Sonn of Mann: "I love you, Marshall Mann."_

* * *

She said what?

I'm floating up near the ceiling looking down on Mary and I huddled on her bathroom floor. Why would she say that? Mary cheering me up by having sex with me I can believe, but love? Does she even know what it is? For that matter, do I? Abigail, Dana, and Marty flick though my mental slideshow.

I thought Mary could never love me. Focusing on Abigail kept me from thinking about Mary. Abigail was everything I wanted in a girlfriend, in a wife. _Except for that little thing about raising my son._ If that was love, what is this?

My heart is stomping; my hands are sweaty. My consciousness snaps back to Mary crouched in front of me. I've admired, appreciated and lusted after this woman. I know her in every way but the biblical. She's loyal to her family and whether she admits it or not, Stan, and I and even Eleanor are her family.

I blink. There's a hand waving in front of my face. Now Mary's fingers are probing the lump on my head. I swallow trying not to stare down her shirt. The sour odor from her recent worship at the porcelain bowl barely registers. I take her arms and pull gently. She balances by straddling me.

"Marshall. Marshall! C'mon partner. This tile is murder on my knees."

I struggle to sit up. "It's damn cold too." I shift my numbing backside hinting that she needs to let me up. "Let's continue this, uh, discussion, someplace more comfortable."

Mary stands quickly and offers me a hand up. I head for the living room, expecting her to follow. Instead I hear her tooth brush. When she joins me on the couch she's minty fresh. She's even wearing a clean sweatshirt, dammit. It would almost be worth the vomitus to have the view afforded by her oversize shirt.

She's sits next to me, frowning. "Marshall? Did you hear what I said?"

Oh yes, I heard you and my soul and certain body parts are rejoicing. She won't face me. Oh no. No, no, no. You're not running this time Shannon. I put my finger under her chin and turn her to me. "I heard you. I just couldn't believe my ears." My eyes lock on hers. "Do you have any idea how long, how I've dreamed of hearing you say those words?"

Her eyes cloud with uncertainty. Time to spell it out for this beautiful woman who is doing the bravest thing she has ever done. "I love you Mare. I've always loved you."

She pulls away and shakes her head. "Nah, you hated me. When we first met, escorting Claudia and Henry you thought I was a brass balled bitch. Everyone did."

I inhale quickly remembering how abrasive Mary was, yet how effective at getting the witnesses to accept WITSEC. "Mare, you were running with FTF, the wild dogs. You behaved like them, but you weren't them. That drive across country showed me a glimmer of who you really are."

She hesitates, afraid to ask. "And who am I?"

I put my hands on either side of her face, making sure she focuses on me, making sure she sees the truth of what I am about to say. "You are the other half of my soul. You complement me in a way no one else could. You are my missing part, the rest of the puzzle. With you I am complete."

Her smile is wondrous. Now that she has allowed herself to love me it seems to know no bounds. "And you are so full of shit." She says tenderly and leans in. I put a hand behind her neck and pull her closer, closer, touchdown. I will remember this kiss till the day I die. It's nothing like the one in the barn with Trina although the gun toting South Africans added a frisson of danger. This time the danger, the excitement is solely from this amazing, beautiful, brave, passionate woman. We have officially entered the breathing optional zone. _Breathing is overrated._

Mary gasps for air breaking the kiss. She tilts her forehead to mine, her blonde hair brushing my shoulders as she straddles me. "Woof!" she exclaims. "That's even better than I remember."

My head lolls back dazed. "Wish I could remember that. I thought you smearing lipstick on me was as close as I'd ever get." She smirks. Our lips gravitate to one another. For the second time tonight, her core and my little head are in contact, albeit obstructed by clothing. I put my hands on her ass, scooting her closer.

When I chuckle she glares at me. "What's so funny Doofus?"

Uh oh. She thinks I'm not serious about this, about us. I grin. "Just thinking. Know why I have you walk ahead of me?"

She runs her fingers through my hair. "So you can ogle my backside." Her response is nonchalant. I'm chagrined.

"You knew? Why didn't you ever call me on it?"

She shrugs. "Men always do that. You're a man." She runs her fingers through my hair moving rubbing against me. If she needed proof there's plenty of evidence right there. "All man." She leans in and whispers. "Others can look but you're the only one I trust to save my ass."

I start digging in my front pocket. At first Mary thinks I'm trying to get into her pants. When she sees that's not the case, she pulls back disappointed and puzzled. "Whatcha doing?"

Ah, got my phone. I hold it so she can see. She scrutinizes it as if it were some alien artifact.

"I gotta call Mom." I can't keep this to myself. Telling Mom will make it real.

She grabs my hand before I can dial. "Marshall! It's late. Where's the fire? I'm not going anywhere."

She isn't going to run this time? She stares at me, baffled and concerned. I can work with baffled. I can explain. "I need to tell her that we're together. And that she's got another grandchild on the way!"

Mary puts her hands on my shoulders. "Hold your horses cowboy." She takes the phone and puts it on the couch. "Let's take these one at a time. You know this pregnancy is considered high risk?"

"Geriatric pregnancy." The phrase slips past my lips before my brain engages. It earns me a fiery glare.

She inhales and exhales slowly. "Right. Anything could happen in the next few weeks. I'm not telling anyone until I've made it through the first trimester."

I grin and sing song. "Too late. You already did." I'm so thrilled about the baby I forgot the risks. When did Mary become the rational one? She's had some time to think.

Mary's hands slide down my arms till she's holding my hands. "I want this baby. It's..."- she shakes her head – "crazy, I know." She pauses, looking toward Norah's room. "She's getting so big. Am I nuts to want to go through it again?"

"No, no." I assure her. "You're not crazy. Lots of couples want another little one when their baby stops being a baby." I squeeze her hands.

"Uh yeah." She responds. "The operative word there is couple, Doofus. This was a unilateral decision."

I smile. She's carrying my baby! "Well you do have to do all the work. You should be the one to decide."

She gives me a tremulous smile and lays her head on my shoulder. "I'm scared, Marshall. This isn't like when I was pregnant with Bug. Coffee doesn't make me nauseous. It smells good."

She answers before I can ask. "No, I haven't been drinking any. That's herbal tea in my travel mug. I never had morning sickness like this. I get shaky and nothing stays down. This isn't me. Isn't it too early for crazy cravings?"

I may be brave, but I'm not about to tell a pregnant Mary Shannon that her cravings aren't pregnancy related. "No. Every pregnancy is different, Mare. Cravings, no cravings. . . ." – _that_ _'s_ _why she wanted salad_ – "morning sickness, no morning sickness, it's all normal." I push her up so she can see me. "This time will be different. I'll be with you **every** step of the way."

She snuggles back under my chin. "What did the doctor say?" I can barely hear her. I can feel her mouth moving on my shirt. "What was that?"

"I haven't been yet."

I inhale quickly. "But you have an appointment, right?" She shifts uncomfortably on my lap.

"Mare! For your own health and that of our – _our!_ – baby you need to go. I'll come with you."

She sits up and puts her arms around my neck. "You will?" She's gone from seductive temptress to lost little girl in a New Jersey minute. I feel hot, flushed. I hate everything and everyone who has ever abandoned her. Everyone who taught her to protect herself by never getting close to anyone, even me.

"Of course I will. I want to be there for every appointment. God willing." No matter how we try life can have other plans.

She snuggles her body against mine. "Yeah, God willing. I want this baby. It's my last chance. I've never prayed so hard."

It doesn't have to be her last chance for a baby. Women older than she are giving birth every day. She doesn't need to hear that right now.

"You know what I want Mare?" Her head shakes against my shoulder. "I want to hold your hair when you throw up." I whisper into her ear. "I want to go out at 3 am to get you pickles and ice cream." She snickers. "I want to be your labor coach. I want a healthy pregnancy for you and I want this baby, our baby." I rasp out those last two words, emotion clogging my throat. _Our baby!_

She sighs. "You'll be a damn good coach. You know everything. Besides I trust you more than those doctors," she shudders.

This woman who has faced drugged up gun runners is afraid? "Mare! Don't. You'll be fine. The baby will be fine. Don't let tomorrow's fear steal today's joy." I didn't think anything could scare her. I lock my gaze on hers. "I will do everything to keep you, Norah, Marty and" - I put my palm against her barely there baby bump -"this little Mann safe." "Please, promise me you will take care of yourself."

"I promise." Her voice is husky. Are those tears or is this pregnancy hormones?

I stare into her eyes. "That's it? No argument?" I will definitely mark this day on my calendar. Mary agrees with me!

Her eyes glisten with unshed tears but her lips curve in a tremulous smile as she nods. Either she actually agrees or she's too wrung out to argue. Either way she needs her rest. Time for bed.

"Uh, Mare?"

"Hmm," she replies drowsy.

I stand, take her hand and pull her up. "Time for bed, woman" I take my life in my hands and smack her butt.

She snickers. "How long have you wanted to say that?" _If she only knew_. She stretches and lets me put my arm around her shoulders.

"Time for sleep. You need your rest so this little one can grow." She's uncharacteristically compliant. She doesn't even smack me back or punch me for calling her sweetheart. We shuffle down the hall. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"Nu uh," she shakes her head. "If you do I won't be able to sleep."

We're at her bedroom door. "Come to bed Doofus." She pulls me in. Standing by her bed she fists my shirt. "Take this off."

"Okay." I strip down to my boxer briefs and wife beater. She's already dressed for bed. She lies down and pulls me next to her, using my chest for a pillow.

Her eyes are already closed when I put my phone on vibrate. There is no way I will allow trivial interruptions to my first conscious night with Mary. "Sweet dreams, my love."

"You too, "she mumbles.

* * *

Mary sleeps like the dead, but my mind is racing. From squealing with happiness - _she loves_ _ **me**_ \- to thoughts of the pregnancy, our relationship, our baby – _our baby_ \- our jobs and back again. I must have fallen asleep because I wake up to Mary's breath tickling my ear and her arm draped across my chest.

Daylight is peaking through her bedroom window as I ease out of her grasp. I grab my shirt and pants and pick up my phone. I put my jeans on and struggle into my shirt as I head for the kitchen. Marty and Norah are still asleep, but Mom will be awake.

I start the coffee maker, making sure it's decaf and make the call I've been waiting to make. "Good morning Mom."

 _"_ _Marshall, why are you whispering?"_

"I'm at Mary's and the she and the kids are still asleep."

 _"_ _Are they okay?"_ Leave it to her to worry. She knows kids can get sick any time.

"Yes, everyone's healthy. I've got some news Mom, really good news." My feet do a joyous shuffle while I get out the eggs. Now how do I phrase this?

 _"_ _Good news?"_

Mom is ready to play our game of not quite 20 questions.

 _"_ _Hmm. You've already been promoted. Marty is too young to have gotten a scholarship to Harvard."_ She pauses _. "You and Mary have finally gotten together."_

Her initial comments made me chuckle, but the last one? I stare at my phone. My mother the psychic?

"Umm, yeah, Mary and I are together. How did you know?"

 _"_ _I know you honey, and after meeting Mary, I knew that once Abigail was out of the picture Mary would make her move."_

"Uh, you're right. She did." Only I didn't know she had made her move until last night.

" _I'm so happy for you Marshall. Your Dad will be too_." He will?

I know Mary wanted to wait, but she's only got a week or two till her second trimester. I can't wait. Besides, this is Mom. I tell her everything, _almost everything_. "There's more, Mom."

 _"_ _What could be better than my sweet boy finally happy with the loves of his life?"_ She means Mary, Marty and Norah. _  
_

"How about another grandchild?" I blurt, too excited for subtlety.

She gasps. This time I've surprised her. She knows that at our age Mary and I can't afford to wait, but she didn't anticipate this.

I fill the silence and make it perfectly clear. "Mary's pregnant Mom. The baby is mine, ours."

This time I take the phone away from my ear because Mom is shouting for Dad.

 _"_ _When is she due? When's the wedding? You don't want to wait too long. The closer. . "_

"Mom, Mom slow down. She didn't want to tell anyone for another couple of weeks. We haven't even talked about getting married." I think I hear her mutter something about cart before the horse.

 _"_ _Do you want me to come out there?"_

"Maybe," I hesitate. _No, no. Mary isn't ready for Mom, but I can't refuse my own mother_. "Not just yet." I enunciate slowly. "We all need some time to adjust. Marty and Norah. . ."

 _"_ _All right Marshall, I will curb my enthusiasm for now. You better call me as soon as you two figure this out. You hear me? Now go take care of your woman, and those beautiful children."_

My woman. My woman! Mary better not hear me say that. But if she is mine then I am hers. Belonging to Mary is all I ever wanted.

As I put the phone in my pocket I notice a missed call from Stan. I'll call him when we get to the office. Right now I have more important things to do – make breakfast for my woman!

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone following this story. Fuels the muse big time. Readers should thank Jojo78 who has become an integral part of my creative process.


	28. The Morning After the Night Before

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann - Chapter 28 – The Morning After The Night Before

MARSHALL POV

Yesterday's shirt is going to have to do. I slip it on but start making breakfast without buttoning it. Will Mary's tender tummy tolerate pancakes? Scrambled eggs are bland, filling. Toast, check. Juice check. Decaf coffee or herbal tea. I'll stick with the tea. It's what she's been drinking at work.

Mary's late night profession of love knocked me for a loop. Lying next to my beautiful fierce partner all night was a dream come true. Except I wasn't dreaming. I wasn't even tired. I didn't want to sleep when I could feel her next to me. I would love to have done more loving, but between the kids and Mary's exhaustion, it just wasn't the right time.

It's hard to believe she really loves me. I know she likes me. She wouldn't tease me if she didn't. Although she will never admit it, she even respects my skills. But love? Did she finally turn her unique people sense on herself? Did she finally see what I saw – a beautiful woman worthy of love?

I spent last night as her pillow. Even now my fingers itch to map every inch of her. _Food first Marshall. You know how she is when she's hungry. Hungry and nauseous? All bets are off. She doesn't need you pawing at her while she's trying to keep from throwing up! There will be time for that later._

Later! It's my dream come true! Knowing Mary sees a future for us is amazing. We both know life has no guarantees. We have no time to waste. Our jobs can be dangerous. As an Inspector, Mary is in more danger. I need to find a way to chain her to her desk while she's pregnant. Then there's the other elephant in the room. Now that we're together, I can't be her supervisor.

Right now, except for Mary's safety, the job doesn't matter. Mary and the baby come first, last and always. Once her body settles down and she stops throwing up things will be better. In her hyper emotional hormonal state she might be more amenable to a change in her duties. After that there's second trimester hormones which mean heightened sex drive. Definitely something to look forward to!

With a rush I realize I'm about to pour orange juice into the coffee pot, and Mary's front door is being unlocked. Quickly donning an apron to cover my excitement, I turn and smile at Joanna.

"Morning!"

"Umm, I smell pancakes." Joanna surveys the stove as she removes her sweater. "I didn't realize you were so talented. Are you taking on a side job as Mary's cook? Is that why you are here so early?"

"Just making breakfast for Mary and the kids. They're still asleep. What would you like Joanna? Pancakes or eggs?" I yawn.

She notices my rumpled shirt and morning stubble. "So, a sleepover?" She smirks. "You and Marty stayed the night?" We'd never done this before so it wasn't surprising that Joanna would question it. Her eyes narrow as she asks, "What's going on Marshall?"

The twinkle in her eye tells me she knows Mary and I are now more than partners. That's okay. I have the perfect excuse. "Uh, yeah. Marty has nightmares at home and when he fell asleep here, I didn't have the heart to wake him." I hold the spatula at attention, my gaze distracted. I just realized he had slept through the night.

Joanna's immediately troubled. "I haven't had a chance to talk about that. He's old enough to not need a nap but when Norah goes down for her afternoon nap, he lays down too. Sometimes he plays quietly by her crib but I usually find him sleeping. Poor tyke. No wonder. If he's not sleeping nights, he needs a nap. You probably could use one too."

She's right about that. My mood shifts from elated to somber in a heartbeat. "He still looks for Dana. Not as often but I still find him wandering through the house, checking every room. Losing his mom, moving to a new place with people he barely knows. It's gotta be rough." I drop my head. Have I done enough?

Joanna touches my arm. "These things take time Marshall. You are making new memories for him. I can tell he's happy with you. He's happy here. He's got you and Mary and Norah and his grandparents and me. He'll be fine. When he starts preschool, he'll have lots of new friends and activities to distract him."

I'm touched by her assurances and her love for my child. Mary's heart stopping admission of love have my emotions strung tight. I can feel the moisture in my eyes. Joanna wraps her arms around me in a comforting hug.

"Mar . . . Daddy?" Aha, I lift my head from Joanna's shoulder and spot a certain someone wide awake. Marty, our little boy, my son is standing in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Joanna pivots to greet him. "Good morning Marty. Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah." He toddles into the kitchen. "Why were you hugging Mar. . .Daddy?" He stumbles over the word. "Did he have a bad dream?"

Joanna gives him a big smile. "Sometimes daddies worry and need a hug." Marty seems to accept her reasoning. She bends down. "Is Norah awake?" Marty shakes his head no. "Well then let's get you dressed. By the time we're done, she should be awake." Marty goes willingly, his small hand in hers.

I give myself a shake. Back to reality and breakfast. In a short time everything is ready except the eggs. I'll cook those when everyone is awake. I see movement on the baby monitor. Time to go to take care of our little girl. And then I can check on my big girl.

"Good morning Bug!" I whisper softly to Norah. I'm not sure how she'll react. Norah rubs her eyes, but smiles when she sees me. She sits up and points to Marty's sleep mat. "He's getting ready for breakfast. Let's get you dressed and we can join him. Okay?"

With both kids dressed and Joanna managing their breakfast, I peek into Mary's room. She's still asleep, clutching the pillow I slipped into her arms. Her hair is a river of blonde silk. She's smiling. My heart swells seeing her at peace.

"Good morning Sunshine." I speak louder since everyone else is awake. I open the curtain so nature's alarm clock fills her room. She rolls onto her back, her arm flung over her eyes. "What time is it?" Her voice is low, rough, and sexy.

I sit on her bed, caging her waist with my arms. "Time to get up sleepy head."

Mary sniffs. "Do I smell pancakes?"

"Yes," I gently tickle her sides. "If you get your lazy ass out of bed there might be some left for you."

"Lazy ass!" she smacks my hand without looking. "I'm gestating your progeny."

"My my. What big words you have," I tease. "So this means even when you're doing nothing you're busy?"

"Damn straight!" she replies still guarding her eyes from daylight.

"So," she uncovers her eyes and glares at me. "Just because I'm carrying your kid you think that entitles you to take certain liberties?"

Even half asleep with no makeup and bed head Mary is damn attractive. I'm glad I'm still wearing her apron. It's currently covering a multitude of sins. "Damn straight!" I give her right back. She starts sitting up and my arms go around her reveling in her sleepy softness.

"I have to say, this time you're right," she murmurs into my ear then licks it.

I fondle her breast. She lies back and pulls me down by my ears. I straighten my arms to avoid falling on her bruised chest. She crashes her lips into mine. Her hands go behind my neck. Mary alternately nibbles and soothes my lower lip. Despite our awkward position I want the kiss to go on forever.

"That's how to make it a good morning," she says. I agree. I look forward to starting every morning this way.

As difficult as it is, I pull myself out of our embrace and stand. Someone has to be the adult. "We'll have time for this later Sweetheart. Rise and shine. Your pancakes are getting cold. If Joanna and the kids left any."

Grabbing some clothes and heading for the bathroom Mary grumbles perfunctorily, "I may rise but I ain't gonna shine."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! It's gratifying to know M&M still have fans. Thanks too to Jojo78 who never fails to stir the muse.


	29. Stan's the Man

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann - Chapter 29 – Stan's the Man

MARSHALL POV

Focus! Mary has distracted me for years. I should be able to handle it. Our friendship changed and deepened over the years. Despite my attraction to Abigail, I had never stopped loving Mary. Abigail was the logical choice. Mary was the choice my heart made.

Mary barely ate at breakfast but at least what little I saw her eat stayed down. Good thing we drove separately. That kiss in her bedroom stirred my imagination. Thinking with my little brain won't do. After years of wanting her, to finally be able to touch her, to love her is exhilarating and frightening.

As I parked in my usual spot on the roof of the Sunshine building my brain stuttered back to life, to the reality of today, and WITSEC. I need to be Chief, not a lovesick Romeo.

Mary comes into the office a few minutes after me. I watch for signs of nausea. She's been at her desk for several hours with only one trip to the bathroom. I've been checking with DoJ, reviewing witness reports and verifying system updates for the entire office. The last task is the only one I'm totally comfortable with. There are so many bits that I know too little about. Stan was a great mentor, but he couldn't cover everything before he left.

Stan! He left me a message. It's after noon here, but not too late to call back east. Before I can dial his number the security gate beeps. Mary is letting in a visitor. We aren't expecting visitors. They would have to be cleared by me. Mary never goes to the gate. She's not exactly the welcoming kind. As if to make me a liar, Mary is hugging the visitor. As she turns I see Stan. His ears are turning red as Mary's warm embrace buries his nose right between the girls. I can't help smiling. Pregnancy hormones are in charge of Miz Shannon today. Still this is no laughing matter. Only something serious would bring Stan here.

I concentrate on greeting our friend, ignoring the alarm going off in my brain. We shake hands, and I pat his arm. Mary stands nearby, smiling. "Welcome back Chief," I salute him as Mary smirks. Bet she hugged him like that on purpose. She seems to be enjoying his agitation. Somewhere, well hidden, is her genuine affection for the man. "How's Lia?"

"Hey Marshall, Mary." Stan stands back, looking us over. Does he approve of what he sees? "Uh Lia's fine." He clears his throat and looks at his feet, suddenly shy. "Her dance studio has all the students she can handle." He stops and stutters. I'm sure the thought of other men handling his Lia gave him pause. "She's even considering a bigger studio."

Mary's eyes widen in genuine gladness. She pats Stan on the back. "That's great Stan. You must be proud of her."

Stan looks her in the eye. "Yeah, yeah I am but . . .

"I doubt Stan is here to offer us dance lessons Mare."

"Marshall's right, that's not why I'm here." Stan gestures towards his office, my office. Mary backs up to let us pass. I know she's curious but hesitant to intrude. At least she doesn't look nauseous.

"C'mon Mary." Stan invites with a wave of his hand. Mary closes the door. Stan and Mary sit side by side in the visitor chairs in front of my desk. It's wierd to see Stan on that side of the desk. Why does he want to talk to the two of us? He can't know about us, can he? We only figured it out last night. Was the fact that Mary got shot again enough to rate a visit? Is he here to chastise me for failing to protect her?

I try not to over think it. "Tired of your new job already, Stan?" I smile. "Or are you coming to check on me?" I jest. I lean back in my chair trying to appear confident, relaxed. Stan knows my question is in earnest.

Stan stalls staring at his clasped hands. His embarrassment - _concern?_ \- seems to be from something other than Mary's hug. "No, no," The lights reflect off his bald pate as he shakes his head. "My new position," he swallows. "Let's just say, there's lots to learn, and" he looks up and exhales, "more politics." He looks me in the eye. "You're the perfect Chief for this office." He fakes a chortle. "Couldn't have done better if I picked you myself."

"Of course he's not checking on you," Mary interjects. "He's here to make sure I haven't derailed your promotion and wrecked the entire WITSEC office." _Right Shannon, it's all about you._ "C'mon Stan. Your visit isn't a coincidence. Allison Pierson is due out here next week."

"Yeah, about that."

"She's not looking to close this office again is she?" I know Mary doesn't want to work anywhere else. Not now.

When Stan doesn't answer immediately, we both panic. He can't miss our worried expressions.

"No, no, nothing like that." He sits back, and shakes his head. Despite his denial something is making him uncomfortable. "The DoJ is looking at how well Witness Protection operates. Whether the government is getting enough bang for its buck."

"You mean the usual cost cutting crap?" Mary accuses.

"Maybe, but more about the effectivity of protocols and procedures. The Albuquerque office has the highest retention rate of any WITSEC office, the fewest security breaches and the fewest witness grievances." _His expression says he's thinking of our penchant for ignoring protocols and procedures._

I've never had the data to compare our office to other WITSEC offices. We always did our best. Mary's extra mile solutions were innovative and effective and sometimes expensive. We both gave our witnesses reasons to stay in WITSEC.

"I hear a but coming," Mary asserts.

"It also has among the highest expenditures of all WITSEC offices," he states. _Aha. I there it is._

"The DoJ wants to know why this office's numbers are so good. They want to see if there's something that could be replicated at other WITSEC offices, preferably without increasing expenses."

I sit back, stunned. This could be an audit in disguise. Having your work reviewed is daunting. There are many opportunities for misunderstanding in the gray areas peculiar to WITSEC.

Mary doesn't hold back. "You're shitting me!"

I expect Stan to smile and admit it's a joke, but he doesn't.

"C'mon Stan. You and I both know you can't duplicate what this office does without duplicating Marshall. He's the reason our witnesses are sort of content."

I shake my head leaning over the desk. "That's not true Mare. You've done more than your share." And many times what she's done has involved spending a decent chunk of change. But she gets results. She gives me a barely there 'oh really' smile. "Is this a goddamn witch hunt disguised as a sort-of-but-not-really pat on the back?"

Stan gives us both an assessing look. "Could be. I'm not plugged into the organization enough to know."

"You wanna borrow our water cooler?" Mary pivots toward him, elbows on knees. He really could use someone like Delia, or Eleanor for that matter.

Stan stares at Mary as if he's actually considering it. He rubs his chin thoughtfully.

Mary's quick to volunteer. "I could ask Delia. I don't have to give her all the details, just enough. She won't spill the beans. Not if I ask her to keep it to herself."

My eyes widen. What happened to my cynical partner? She's vouching for Delia?

"You can trust her Chief. She knows a lot of people. There is a whole sweaterful of strings she can pull to get information."

 _What does Delia have on Mary? She must be blackmailing Mary to get that resounding endorsement. I thought I was the only one Mary trusted. Does she know Mary is pregnant? Does she have any idea that Mary and I are a couple?_ Stan's cough ends my wool gathering.

"We could be looking at this all wrong," Stan explains. "This could be a feather in your cap."

"Or a load of crap." Mary's always looks for the dark side. It's saved our lives plenty of times. She could be right in this case too. This is the worst time for headquarters to come snooping. Mary and I together at last. Mary's pregnant. My relative newness to the job means there is little to use to measure my performance.

Stan has no such limitations. "What do you think it is Stan?"

"Honestly?" He grimaces in disgust. "I think its professional jealousy. The peg that sticks up gets smacked down." He doesn't want me to be discouraged. "Maybe they think I juggled the numbers."

"Which means they underestimate you." Mary asserts. Stan's eyebrows rise at this un-Mary like compliment.

"And they're pissed because they can't figure out how you did it." I add. Stan had told me some of the political jockeying endemic to the Marshal Service. Promote Stan just to see if ABQ WITSEC continues to perform at the same level without him? It makes a sort of twisted sense. What does it really mean? And more importantly what should we do?

We're all quiet, assessing the likelihood of each motivation. What is Allison Pierson's visit really about? In any case, this is best discussed elsewhere. Little ears, big ears, electronic ears could all be listening. This office is supposed to be sacrosanct, bug free. I glance around doing a visual check. Mary knows what I'm doing and shakes her head. Not here, not now.

When in doubt, fall back on food. It works with Mary and will probably work with Stan. "It's good to have you back, Stan, even if it's only temporary. You must be hungry after your flight. Bet you've been missing Garcia's chiquitos. If we hurry, we can get there before they close." Garcia's only serves breakfast and lunch. They close mid-afternoon.

Despite his avuncular appearance, Stan is quick on the uptake. "Yeah, you know I've been craving their chiquito tacos. If you've got something to do before we go, I can, y'know, walk around. Check out the old office." _He means look for bugs and possible spies._

I've already completed what was on my desk. I check my phone for no urgent calls or emails. "No, no. I'm good to go. What about you Mare?"

Mary is checking her phone. "Looks all clear. Let me ask Delia if she wants to order. I can bring it back."

Since when is Mary thoughtful? First she defends Delia's trustworthiness now she's offering to bring the muffin baker lunch? Maybe it's a bribe? Is this pregnancy hormones or PTSD?

* * *

GARCIA'S TAQUERIA

We settle into a booth, Stan on one bench, Mary and I on the other. Mary's at the open end making it easier to bolt for the bathroom if she needs to. The waitress comes and we place our orders.

Stan folds his hands on the table. "Okay you two, what is this about? Did Mary dig up another FBI corruption scheme? Do you think the office is bugged?"

"Well, the office might be bugged," Mary smirks. "We will check that out tonight. There's something personal we want to talk to you about." She gently squeezes my thigh under the table. I nod giving her permission to talk to Stan about us. We could use his help in navigating the minefield of regulations that could cramp our personal lives or end our professional ones.

Before we can answer our food arrives. Mary hands me my plate. Our hands touch and linger. Even though Mary must be starved, she takes a moment to savor the skin on skin contact before taking a huge bite of her breakfast burrito. It's good to see her appetite return. Stan brings us back to the reason for this 'meeting.'

"You're. . ." He makes a coupling motion with his hands. "together?" Mary gives Stan a questioning look over her mouthful holding the burrito possessively. "You two," he points to each of us. "You're a couple."

I always knew Stan had the skills. He never used them on me, on us before. At least I don't think he did.

Mary's eyes widen and she glares at me. She's still chewing and won't let go of her burrito so she can't yell at me or punch me. I hold up my hands in the universal sign of surrender. "Mare, honest, I didn't say a word."

Stan sits back and beams. "It's true. Marshall didn't tell me. I knew one of these days you two would get out of your own way. You were always more than just partners. Eleanor saw it from day one. I ignored it because it never affected your work, either one of you. What the hell took you so long?" How could he be so smug, so right?

He looks happy for us, but zeroes in on the problem. "So, now Mary reports to you. This leaves Marshall open to charges of favoritism and sexual harassment. Although if they know Mary they'd suspect her of doing the harrassing."

Mary pauses her forkful of black beans. "Eleanor told me there are five other married couples in the Marshal Service who work together."

I gawp at Mary. "You're in touch with Eleanor?" Of all the things I thought she might say, this wasn't it.

Mary shrugs one shoulder. "She's a friend. I don't have many friends. Why wouldn't we be in touch?"

His forehead unfurls as Stan relaxes and stares at Mary and I. Mary is still shaking her head in disbelief. She's pushes away her plate and takes a deep breath. I observe her carefully wondering if what just went down is on its way back up.

Wait, her head is down and her shoulders are shaking. Is she crying? I put my arm around her as she continue to shudder. Suddenly she throws her head back and guffaws. Tears stream down her face.

"God, you know what's really sad?" she asks. "That I was so incredibly blind. Blind and stupid." She breathes in wetly. "Remember, on that very first case," she faces me. "You asked if I had ever turned my 'spidey' sense on myself. I didn't. And look where it got me." Her cheeks are pink and suddenly she's mortified by her outburst. "Damn pregnancy hormones."

I hate to see Mary suffer. "No Mare, everything happens when it should. We wouldn't be together now if we hadn't gone through all that. You wouldn't have Norah. If you're assigning fault, it's me. I was a coward for not fighting you for you. I knew we were meant to be but I let you convince me otherwise."

Stan doesn't seem to have heard a word. "Wait a minute. Pregnant? You're pregnant?"

"Yeah but this is only the second one," she gives him a pointed look as she wipes the tears from her face. "You don't get to shoot me. Yet."

Stan rubs his bald pate. "Aiyiyii. I don't know a way you two can keep working in the same office even if you weren't pregnant. Now that you are. . . ." He trails off uncertainly. His gaze is sober as he asks me, "The kid's yours?"

I can't help grinning like an idiot. Mary pokes me in the ribs. "It's not funny Doofus." She's serious. "I told him Stan. I told him this could be a career ender."

"Not necessarily." Stan has the strangest expression. "Look I don't need details but I do need a timeline. It could affect what happens to both of you."

Mary looks away from me and starts scooting out of the booth. She stands and hustles toward the back of the restaurant to the restrooms. I hesitate, nodding to Stan and follow her.

* * *

A/N: I always liked Stan. Thanks for your patience in following this story and to Jojo78 for pointing out timing errors.


	30. What Comes Up

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann - Chapter 30 – What Comes Up

MARY POV

I left Stan and Marshall staring at each other as I ran for the bathroom. I'm leaning with both hands on the sink and panting. I had to get out of there. _Deep breaths. Slow_ _deep inhale._ Telling Stan made this all too real. Another baby? That's assuming this pregnancy comes off without a hitch. I don't want to think about old eggs and complications. _It's Marshall's. It's got to be okay._

How can I manage two kids when I can't even take care of Bug? Bug wouldn't even look at me when I was finally released from that damn Denver hospital. She was mad. I can't be gone for days. Something has got to give and I think it's going to be me. Even Jinx couldn't understand how I could leave my little girl for so long.

Then there's Marshall. I can't saddle him with the Shannon craziness. Am I his rebound from Abigail? Norah is so attached to Marshall and Marty already. I don't know what she's going to do when Marty goes to preschool. I love that little Mann. Getting him in a good preschool is as difficult as getting into Harvard.

Me and Marshall? How in the hell can that work? He's all chess and art museums. I'm checkers and the shooting range. _Marshall does enjoy blasting the crap out of things_. He's all fancy French, I'm Jersey profanities. _Deep inhale, slow exhale_. We work together. Now I report to him. That's not gonna work. He's meant to be Chief. _Exhale slowly._

There's no way I can leave. I'd be doing what Dana did. Mr. Pregnancy has been reading those books again. Doofus is probably looking forward to cleaning up spit up and changing diapers! Hell, he changes Norah's now. We've been together a lot but only because Marty is at my house. They've stayed for dinner a lot. He's even made dinner once or twice, but last night was the first time he, actually they, stayed the night.

 _Hmm. My office could be Marty's bedroom. But where will the baby go?_ Aaargh. Darn hormones. I hate when my mind drifts off without permission.

"Knock, knock." My head jerks up. "Mary?" Marshall, of course. Nothing stops that man. I'm glad this is a one-holer. I don't have to explain why a US Marshal is trying to enter the Women's. "Mare, are you okay? Say something. If I don't hear from you I'm coming in."

Jeez. He sounds anxious. Did everyone in the restaurant hear? Would he really break the door down? I like Garcia's too much to risk being banned from the place. I open the door and Marshall's expression goes from worried to relieved. "You didn't vomit."

"No Captain Obvious. I'm standing, not bent over the bowl." I'm trying for my usual brashness but I don't fool him. He fills the doorway of the tiny bathroom, crowding me against the sink. He puts his hands on my hips and leans till our foreheads touch.

"I was worried Mare."

 _Yeah, well join the club, Doofus. These days I worry me_. "How did things get to be such a huge mess? Marty and I have done a bang up job of blowing up your life." _Did I say that out loud?_

"No you haven't," he insists. "You, this baby, Marty and Norah **are** my life. Don't you see that?" He whispers hoarsely. I bury my face in his shoulder, and sniff back my tears.

"Can't you see how this will ruin everything? Your career. . . ."

"Fuck my career."

"Your Dad is going to be so disappointed." I can't bear the thought of Seth giving Marshall a "Fail" grade.

"Mare, for the umpteenth time, I don't care. It doesn't matter. You matter. We matter. Our little family – that's what matters." He puts his arms around me and makes soothing circles on my back. "Besides, Dad likes you. He even told me you were the one."

My head jerks back. "What? When did he say that?"

"When they came out to meet Abigail when your Dad came back. You called me in the middle of the night, and I came. He said that the woman that gets you out of bed at 4 a.m. is the one."

"What did you say?" I'm trying not to be anxious and needy.

"I didn't want him to think I was cheating on Abigail, so I pretended I didn't understand. I wimped out Mare." He's still rubbing my back attempting to soothe me and it is working. I breathe deep and feel my body relax. I'm putty in this man's hands.

"You're no wimp Marshal Marshall Mann!" Over his shoulder I see a woman waiting for the bathroom. "We need to talk somewhere else." I nod to the line forming behind him.

He turns and smiles. "Sure. Let's go see if Stan has an answer to our dilemma."

Stan was many things but he isn't the answer man. I love Stan for trusting us, for letting us figure out the best way to take care of our witnesses. God, I miss Eleanor. There was a woman who could get answers. Stan is on the phone amongst the remains of his lunch but ends the call when he sees us.

"So Stan, you got a plan?" Marshall asks as we sit down.

"Not exactly, but first things first." He speaks quietly and checks to see if there is anyone close enough to hear. "Does anyone else know or even suspect that Mary is pregnant?"

I look at Marshall and he looks at me. "Delia?" he asks.

"No. We alternate office and witness visits so we don't spend much time together. Not that I mind having her around." They can't think that I don't trust her. Not if we're going to bring her into this operation. I shrug. "That's just the way it works. She's never seen me throw up. We haven't had lunch together in weeks. She already had lunch plans when I called her about Garcia's."

Stan rubs his head. "That's good," he mutters. "Very good." He's right. Of all the marshals in the office, Delia knows me best. If she doesn't know no one knows, not even my mother.

Stan looks at both of us. "Do you think you can keep this to yourselves until after Allison's visit?"

Marshall swallows. "Sure, as long as you can keep my Mom out of town." Marshall has the good grace be embarrassed at being a blabbermouth.

I answer Stan's unspoken question. "Doofus here just had to share the news. He called his mother right after finding out I was pregnant."

Marshall pokes me, grinning. " **We** are pregnant. And I didn't call her right after. I waited till morning."

Yeah sure. Wish **we** could take turns carrying this baby. I'd gladly give him all the time he wants. I'll make him pay for his 'we' comment later.

"Marshall," Stan orders. "You check on your mother. Make sure she doesn't tell anyone until Allison is gone. Explain whatever you need to get her to go along. Your father too. Find out if they've told anyone else. Okay?"

"Sure." Marshall hasn't called his mom yet today.

"Mary, do we have to swear your OBGYN to secrecy?" Good boy Stan. Cover all the bases.

"Ah, no. I haven't been to see her yet." Procrastination can be a good thing.

Stan exhales. "Good. The fewer people who know, the better." When Stan slides out of his seat I look for the bill.

"Did you pay for lunch, Dad?" I smirk.

He just nods. "Let's get back to the office and see what we need to do to get ready for Allison's visit."

Marshall puts his hand on Stan's shoulder. "Thanks, Dad." It flusters Stan just the way he knew it would. Wait till the kids start calling him Grandpa Stan. _What! Why would I think that. Damn pregnant brain! I get to trade nausea for sanity?_

Stan and Marshall go into his office to strategize. We've arranged to meet for breakfast tomorrow. Today Stan needs to check into the regional office. I have a couple of witness reports. Marshall needs to talk to his parents, but he probably doesn't want to do it at the office.

The day winds down uneventfully. While the other marshals and Delia are out of the office I talk to Eleanor about Allison and her 'visits.' She promises to check. I tell her to call me, any time. A couple of calls to the FBI on the office line aren't suspicious, but I can talk freely at home. Besides, Marshall will be there and he'll have questions. It would be good to know the kinds of things Allison's been looking for.

Marshall is the original Boy Scout. He's always prepared. He probably has every statistic for this office from the last ten years at his fingertips. I know he spent a few days going through the files in Stan's office. If he found any good dirt he never shared. I'll have to ask him. Marshall may be prepared, but is he ready for us, for this baby? He and I fit together like a plug and electrical outlet. If I had any idea what kind of sparks we could make I would have jumped him years ago. I can't believe this is happening. Him, me, Norah, Marty and a baby? _Am I crazy? Crazier?_

I drive home in a pregnancy induced fog, surprised when the minivan stops in my own driveway. Putting my head on the steering wheel I brace myself to face the kids and Joanna. I love Norah and Marty but their exuberance can be overwhelming. Especially when I am underwhelmed, or whatever I am these days. Pregnant. That's what I am. Pregnant with a capital P.

My head is still resting on the steering wheel when I hear a tap on the driver's side window. I jerk alert. Some marshal you are Shannon. The entire Viper gang could have snuck up on you. Lucky for me, it's only Marshall.

"You okay?" He opens the car door helping me out. Normally I'd give him hell for his gallantry but today I'm too damn tired.

"Yeah, just tired." Once my feet touch the ground he reaches back in and grabs my messenger bag. Then his long arms extract an ancient juice box and some fruit snacks past their use by date from between the seats. _Maybe he'll get my car detailed for mother's day. How domestic is that? Some exotic animal I am. More like a puddy tat._

"I called Eleanor. She's going to check if Allison has visited any other offices and what she did while she was there."

"Bet she tracks Allison's travel receipts. If anyone can find out, it's Eleanor." Marshall agrees.

As we enter the house, I point my finger at him. "You need. . ."

"To call my mom. I know. Just let me get Marty settled. Okay?"

I know he's checking to see if I heard him. I did, but my eyes are closing. I'm so tired. All I did was sit on my ass all day, why am I tired?

"Mama" Norah greets me. I sit down on the couch and hold my arms wide. She lands like a linebacker. She smells of crackers and cheese and baby. I inhale and feel calmer.

"Mama, I dwaw."

"You did? Can I see?" She's not eating the crayons? Joanna wouldn't let that happen.

She scrambles off my lap managing to kick me in the shins. It's a wonder Marshall hasn't asked me about the bruises. Then again, when we've been naked he had other things on his mind. I smile remembering. Are we really doing this?

My head is resting on the back of the couch when Norah thrusts a sheet of paper in my face. Time to wake up and do the mom thing. "Tell me about this." It's a series of loops and lines in different colors.

Marshall looks over my shoulder from behind the couch. "Very linear." Ever the art critic. He's holding a paper too. Marty is clinging to his leg, urging him forward. "Here Marty, take your drawing and show Mary." I don't hear a reply from Marty, but Norah greets him as he comes around the couch.

"Wow," I tell him, my eyes wide in approval. "That's a really good drawing." It is too. For a four year old he's got quite a grasp of the crayon world. There's a big yellow blob, a bunch of brown and four lines. "You want to tell me about it?"

Marty is as taciturn as Marshall is loquacious. If he wasn't the spitting image of Marshall at that age I'd wonder who his father was.

"That's our house." He's pointing to the brown blob, which I now realize is sort of square. "That's Daddy." It's the longest line. Figures, since Marshall is the tallest. The next line is me. "Oh look, you even got my blonde hair!" Since my 'head' is a black line my yellow hair has black roots. How's that for realism? "Marty," he points to the shorter line. "That's me," he says proudly. "Norah" He points to a pink blob.

"That's really good little man. You drew us all. Can I put this on my refrigerator? You can see it tomorrow when you're here." He'll be at my house until the preschool calls with a spot for him. I'm going to miss the little guy. He's always got a smile for me.

Marshall is standing behind him, the proud daddy. "Let's get these kids fed."

"Hey Joanna. How was your day?" he asks as he herds the kids to wash up.

Joanna gives us a rundown of her day with the kids. Park, playground, lunch, snack, nap. Nap. _Nap sounds really good_. The next thing I know Norah is tiptoeing in front of me doing a very loud "shhh" and there are wonderful smells coming from the kitchen. Dinner is served. Joanna is gone and it's just me, Marshall and the kids.

"Sorry Marshall. I'm not good for much tonight."

As he dishes out the macaroni and cheese Marshall suggests, "You might want to take off a day here and there. It's important that you get enough rest."

"Oh sure, being home with Norah and Marty would be real restful." I snort.

"You could go to my place. Sleep, kick back, whatever."

That actually sounds good. The kids are fed and I've had a few bites. Maybe the nausea is over? I hate to jinx it but I haven't vomited once today.

"Mare? Mary."

"What." I raise my head to an empty table, no dishes, no kids.

"You need to get to bed my love. Sleeping on the table isn't restful."

I let him lead me to the bedroom and am asleep before I can ask if he's talked to his mom.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for following this story. Salutations to Jojo78 for the quick read through. My pride at the readership for this story is tempered by the fact that this is the only IPS story currently under construction. Glad there are still fans for M&M! This is the first story I haven't completed before posting. I have no outline, no plot. I write whatever the characters and the story decide to go. Thanks for reading!


	31. Allison Pearson Comes to Call

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 31 – Allison Pierson Comes to Call

MARSHALL POV

After Mary passed out in her bed, Marty and I went home. We can't have sleepovers, especially when Director Pierson is due to visit. Marty was up several times during the night. We're both yawning as we get to Mary's.

We're not the only ones tired today. Joanna decided to let Mary sleep in. I would love to let her sleep but we're meeting Stan for breakfast. I spent the whole night considering possibilities. There's got to be a way for Mary and I to be together and stay in the Marshal Service.

Marty heads for the kitchen and Norah's high chair. Joanna gets him juice and asks if he wants cereal. I go down the hall to Mary's bedroom. "C'mon Mare. Wakey wakey." I bend down over her sleeping form. Her scent overwhelms me as I whisper. "C'mon Love. Wake up and smell the coffee. We're meeting Stan this morning, remember?"

She rolls over her eyes mere slits. "Marshall?" She closes them and swipes at her hair. "No coffee." She mumbles. "I thought I was still dreaming."

"Now I know you're not awake." It was sweet for her to think I was her dream. But then she didn't say it was a _good_ dream.

She grumps and throws the sheet off. No baby bump yet, but her skin is abloom. I can't wait to see her ripe with our child. I give her a hand up and point her toward the bathroom, patting her rump as she walks by.

"You'll get yours, Stringbean." I certainly hope so. She barely glowers over her shoulder as she heads for the shower. Ah, must be love.

We meet at a little pie house close to Mary's. Our food is on the table when Stan starts the discussion. "Albuquerque's WITSEC expenditures are high, but I believe it's cost effective. If you can figure out how much it costs the government to move a witness, or when a witness refuses to testify, I'll bet we can show a savings.

Elbows on the table I put my folded hands up. "You mean a cost benefit analysis? The benefits are hard to quantify. What is the the cost of a gangster still on the streets?"

"Easy," Mary says. "Just look at the cases we know involve that person, reported crimes, DoJ expenditures and FBI expenditures investigating those crimes. Add in the LEO's costs and you have a hell a lot of money."

"Yeah," I think about it. "That might do it. But those figures are hard to come by." I need to be accurate. This whole thing is an exercise in gamesmanship and we need to have the best data. We've got to anticipate the director's arguments.

Mary snorts. "They have a budget right? At the end of the year they have to account for expenditures. Once you know how many cases they have handled, you could come up with some sort of average cost in time and money. Any cases that take longer than that average can assume to cost more. For all we know the GAO has those figures."

She's got a point. There should be some sort of internal accounting that Stan or I can access. "Stan? Think we can find those figures?"

"Not for current the current year. It takes a while for everything to settle and the actual numbers to surface. Let me see what I can do. My new job actually requires me to look at things just like this." Stan tucks into his huevos rancheros. I keep an eye on Mary as she takes a spoon to her poached egg. It would be great if she's past the morning sickness stage.

Stan looks pensive over his coffee. I'm startled when he smacks the table. "I think this could do it. Marshall, you can get the costs from your office to the penny. Figure the average costs for those."

"Juggle with the numbers till they look good!" Mary teases. I frown. I have no intention of rigging the numbers.

Stan grabs the check and stands. "You and I have our marching orders, Marshall." Stan points at Mary. "You, talk to Eleanor and Delia. I'll call you with whatever I find. Phone calls are better than emails in this case." Stan was pretty sharp for an old dude. Email is forever.

Our phone conversations could be recorded or traced, but most of it can be couched in terms we understand but are not obvious to an outsider. Besides we will be discussing legitimate marshal business. Mary and I give Stan a hug and get to the office.

* * *

It's been a week since Stan's visit. The longest week of my life. I've gone from having sex regularly to being wrought by Dana's death and having my nights interrupted by Martin. Add in Mary's declaration of love and I'm an emotional zombie. Mary and I haven't had any time alone. That frustration along with concern about Director Pierson's visit. ( _Is she really coming to close_ _the_ _Albuquerque WITSEC office?)_ made me irritable. I was getting Mary's WTF look all too often.

Stan and I worked out how to align what we do in this office with WITSEC procedures and protocols. Eleanor gave us the Marshal offices Pierson had already visited. Stan called their chiefs. After all these years as a marshal, computer expert and all round bad ass lawman, I feel like a doctoral student getting ready to defend my thesis. Except it's more than a thesis. It's my life, my career, and the careers of a dozen other marshals.

Mary suggested several sections from the manual that could be interpreted to cover what we've done for our witnesses. Teresa's financial records were a godsend. Stan hadn't figured out a way for Mary and I to work together. Yet. I even scanned my wardrobe for 'appropriate' attire for Ms. Pierson's visit but decided the hell with it. If my court suits aren't good enough it's too bad. I wasn't promoted to be a damn clothes horse.

Mom was a trooper about the gag order. She'd told Dad that Mary and I were together and expecting, but hadn't told anyone else. She knows that Mary's pregnancy is considered high risk. Dad hardly ever talks about family or to them for that matter. Jinx has been consumed with getting her dance students ready for a competition in Santa Fe. Mary hasn't seen her in weeks. Joanna? If she suspects she is keeping it to herself. I hope word won't get out until we are ready. I picture announcing it at a joyous party with family and friends. One thing at a time. Getting through this 'inspection' has to be my focus now.

Certain smells trigger Mary's nausea and vomiting so I've stopped wearing cologne and found an unscented deodorant. We haven't talked about our future. We both realize she can't work for me. She's been a boon to WITSEC, but she can't continue as an Inspector. It's too dangerous. All I have to do is convince her, or better yet, get it to be her idea.

Ms. Pierson arrives today. I informed the troops about her visit last week. They cleaned their desks and policed the area. Delia asked if it was okay to bring muffins. She thought it might be considered unprofessional. I've organized and cross indexed my files, polished my desk. Mary made fun of me when I got out the feather duster, but I caught her using it.

Still no word from the preschool. I'm okay with that. Marty enjoys being with Norah. His curiosity about the gas stove had almost gotten him scorched fingers. He turned the stove on and was about to investigate the blue colors coming from the burner. When had he gotten tall enough to reach the stove? Joanna stopped him in time. Marty and I had a talk about 'hot' that night. According to the child psychologist, Marty's inquisitiveness is a good sign. He's comfortable enough to be himself.

Today the office is quiet. It's always quiet when Mary's out. My desk phone rings. "Chief Mann." Harold in the lobby lets me know Ms. Pierson is on her way. I head for the security gate.

"Good Morning Director Pierson." She's wearing what Mary would call cosmo-drinking-whore shoes. I hold out my hand to make sure she doesn't catch a heel in the track of the security gate. She sees where I'm looking and steps over it.

"Morning Chief Inspector Mann." She stops and does a 180 degree scan. "I see there have been a few changes."

"Keeping the building up to code and running the security system required some minor construction. Electrical wiring in an older building is always inadequate for today's offices. As you know the Marshal Service has some unique requirements. May I show you the rest of the office?"

"If you don't mind, I'll just wander around on my own. I found my way around the Pentagon, I'm sure I won't get lost here." She smirks.

Delia is already at her desk. She was on the phone as I greeted Pierson, probably alerting the others. No one is going to be AWOL today. Nobody except Mary. When I dropped Marty off Mary hadn't slept well and decided to take the day off. Marty and I have been sleeping at my place. He sleeps better at Mary's but we can't afford a hint of impropriety. Once we figure out what we're going to do, once we can tell everyone, Marty and I can stay at Mary's. We'll both sleep better.

I'm in my office keeping an eye on Pierson. She introduces herself to a few of the marshals. Conversations are brief but Dawson held her attention long enough get her laughing. I'll have to ask him what that was about.

Good thing I've been cutting back on caffeine in solidarity with Mary. Otherwise I'd be six cups in and twitchy. I've checked today's alerts and threat assessments and am responding to emails when the door to my office clicks and Ms. Pierson graces me with her presence. I gesture her to the uncomfortable visitor chair. _See, no money wasted on frivolous amenities for guests._

"Chief Mann, I have a few questions." I'm sure she does. Hope I have the answers.

"What is the purpose of this office?"

Whoa. The Mary voice in my head sneered, _Don't you know? You're the Director._

"Albuquerque was selected as the location for this WITSEC office because of its compact size and distance from the east coast where the mobsters hold sway. WITSEC was created to provide safety and security for anyone willing to testify in federal court to ensure the conviction of high profile criminals. Which criminals and witnesses are determined by the DoJ. Our job is to keep them safe before and after they testify. Inspectors check on new witnesses frequently, not only to assure their safety, but to reiterate what they have agreed to in the MOU. It's over 300 pages and no matter what they say when they sign it, most haven't absorbed it. Over 1,000 convictions have resulted from the testimony of witnesses handled by Albuquerque WITSEC."

She takes a minute to digest this. Is this really news to her? "Is it the job of your Inspectors to make witnesses comfortable?"

I shake my head. "Far from it. As you know those witnesses who have been convicted are housed in secured sections of federal penitentiaries. Those who aren't criminals give up their careers, positions that took years to achieve. In many cases, they give up some or all of their family. While being a CEO is somewhat like being a store manager, I'm sure you'll agree it's not the same. It takes some time for the witness to accept the necessity of their new life. Most come to tolerate it. Few embrace it."

"I see." Allison drags out her reply. Does she really? Does she have any idea what some witnesses have sacrificed in the name of justice? "What about witnesses who don't 'embrace' it."

What is she digging for? "I'm aware of a few witnesses from this office that have decided to leave. Some because they no longer feel threatened some because they can't adjust. I'm sure you can see where working at Kinko's doesn't bring the same satisfaction as being an award winning writer free to publish."

She's still looking at me, waiting for more? What kind of game is she playing?

"In any case they are still bound by their MOU. If they reveal anything about their time in WITSEC, the location of this office or the names of their Inspectors, they will be imprisoned. The Inspectors in this office have earned the respect of their witnesses, and their compliance to the MOU. Here's the cost of a single security breach." I slide a paper with the figures itemizing the costs.

She sits back, her hand to her chin, examining it. "These numbers . . ." she begins. "Are all from DoJ, FBI and U.S. Marshal budgets and accounts."

She peruses then puts the paper down and sighs. "It's a Faustian solution working in gray areas of the legal system with questionable ethics."

I nod in agreement. About as clear cut as politics in DC. "Since the creation of the Witness Protection program ten thousand career criminals have been convicted on the evidence provided by those witnesses. Here are specific examples." I rise and hand her more sheets.

Stan and I had selected three cases where witnesses provided the crucial evidence and three where they refused to testify. I compared the expense of the failed cases in both dollars and lives to the successful convictions. It's a devils bargain but justice is served. And served cheaply compared to the possible costs.

Allison listens with thoughtful interest. "Send me that presentation please. I want to study it in detail."

"Done." A few keystrokes later, it was on its way.

She stands and so do I. Just like Mom taught me. "So, we're damned if we do and damned if we don't." She smiles at me wryly and I relax. The grilling appears to be over, for now. "I'll be in Albuquerque for a few more days. Perhaps you could suggest a good place for dinner? I'd like to hear how your marshals present the _allure_ of Albuquerque."

Is she being sarcastic? New Mexico is beautiful, clean and uncluttered. Am I supposed to sell her on Albuquerque or WITSEC? Is she digging for dirt? I can see the concerned expression on Delia's face as she picks up the phone. What am I supposed to say? My desk phone rings.

"Chief Mann."

It isn't Delia.

I sit down. "Excuse me Director, I have to take this."

* * *

A/N: According to the NPR report Sharing Tips on Witness Protection Programs, July 19, 2006 there were 7,000 witnesses in witness protection. With an 89% conviction rate, 10,000 convicted criminals is feasible.


	32. Stan and Seth

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

* * *

Sonn of Mann – Chapter 32 – Stan and Seth

Earlier same day, Stan McQueen's office

"Chief McQueen"

"Don't you have a new title now?" The voice was low, gruff.

"Yeah, but old habits die hard, Seth."

"Don't I know it? Beth accuses me of letting the chickens out just so I can chase them."

Stan chuckles. "They must be a whole lot easier to catch than fugitives."

"You'd be surprised. They can be sneaky, but I've got a few tricks myself. Listen, we need to talk about the kids."

"Marshall?"

"And Mary." Seth affirms.

"You know?" Aware that his conversation could be overheard, Stan kept his statements generic.

"Yes, and I'm happy for both of them, and Marty and Norah. But we both know they can't continue. It leaves them both open to all kinds of charges. Besides, Mary's had two close calls recently. And now . . ."

"I'm aware of her condition." Stan supplies.

"Good, so I won't have to dance around that."

"About that." Stan sounds pensive.

"You got something Stan?"

"Maybe. I was in Albuquerque recently and talked to Kowalski at the Regional Office."

"Yeah, I know him." Seth's voice frowned. "So?"

"He called today to tell me he's retiring. He's on the Review Board in Albuquerque. They want someone with a variety of field experience, someone who can read between the lines on after action reports and knows the manual inside and out." Stan sounded pleased. "We know someone who fits the bill."

"We do? You mean Mary? I don't doubt her experience or her ability to find the bull shit in a report but does she know the manual by heart, like Marshall?"

"She does now. Marshall quizzed her on it. She passed with flying colors. And we both know what a stickler for accuracy Marshall can be. What makes her an even better fit is that the entire administration is under pressure to promote more women. We both know Mary has bigger balls than most men, but she is a woman."

Seth scratched behind his ear as he considered Stan's idea. "What do you want me to do?"

"Talk to her. Convince her to apply."

"Sure, give me the easy job," Seth groused.

"Nothing's ever easy with Mary, but she admires you. She'll listen to you. You need to talk to her ASAP." Stan paused. "Director Pierson is in Albuquerque."

"Why is Pierson there?"

"I'm not sure. There's some talk about Albuquerque's budget and effectiveness. She tried to close the office before. I talked to Marshall. Made sure he's prepared; helped him locate the records he might need. She fixated on Mary last time. Made Mary nervous."

"What do you know about Pierson's inspections Stan?"

"Inspection? Probably as good a word for it as any. I know she's making the rounds, visiting the marshal offices in the region. No particular reason that I'm aware of."

"Really? No orders from the bigwigs at the top? No directives." Seth knew Stan has more experience with agency politics. Seth preferred his FTF job. Keep it simple. Find 'em, cuff 'em, lock 'em up.

"Nothing that I've heard. I talked to Marshall. He put out a few feelers too." They both knew that it was unusual for high ranking appointed officials to touch base with the troops. Something was up. Something that concerned Marshall. He would grill his son tomorrow. Who knows he might even be able to help.

"Has Pierson seen Mary?" Seth wondered.

"I don't think so."

"Maybe she should Stan. If Mary could show her how effective she is, how much insight she has it could help her get the position. I'll ask around too. I'm sure Marshall doesn't have anything to worry about." Seth assured him. "You left the place in good shape."

"Uh, thanks Seth."

"As for Mary," Seth paused. "I need to talk to her in person." He rubbed his chin thinking. "Yup, I'm foot loose and fancy free these days. Beth will be glad to have me out from under foot. She's putting the final touches on our house."

"I'm sorry to hear your place got damaged."

Seth sighed. "She's been telling me to take out that tree for the last five years. She was right." He chuckled. "Admitting I was wrong and the chance to redecorate almost made it worth her while. I'll check flights and talk to Beth. I should be there tomorrow."

"Great. I think this can work. This way they both get to stay in Albuquerque."

"Yeah. Marty seems to be settling in. Marshall says he's friendlier and how did he put it – more animated. I can't wait to see for myself. "

"Call Marshall. I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."

"I don't know about that. I want to surprise them. If I tell Marshall, Mary will know. If she knows I'm coming she'll have her guard up."

"I don't pretend to know her as well as Marshall does, but she's a lot like you, Seth. If you're convinced, she will be too."

"Let's hope so. It's not my career."

"Mary's more easy going since Norah. She has other things to consider now." There's a noise on Stan's end of the call. "Gotta go. You call Mary. I'll call Marshall. Good luck." _You're going to need it_ , Stan mutters.

* * *

MARY POV

Sheesh. How hard is it to avoid that Pierson person? I stayed home yesterday and today I managed to visit witnesses all morning. Delia kept me posted on her whereabouts. I have to go to the office to file these visit reports. Besides, my feet are killing me. I need to sit, not skulk. I'm already parked at the Sunshine Building when I check in. "Delia?"

"All clear Mary. She's gone to lunch."

"Be right there."

The office is comfortably cool after the bright sun of the parking structure's rooftop. Marshall's office is dark. Maybe he took the Pierson person to lunch. Hope he can keep her there till I'm done. Then I can leave for lunch and avoid her for another day. Yup, that sounds like a plan. First time she was here she stuck to me like a bur. Ugh.

Marshall still hasn't returned when I've finished my witness reports. Not much to report, they've all been good little snitches. Only had to 'explain' the rules to one of them. Sigh. Then there's Donny. I saw him at work, briefly. Very briefly. I have to admit Marshall may be right about Donny. He sported a huge smile when I appeared. He almost tripped over himself to greet his favorite 'customer.' Sheesh. These aren't social calls. He just doesn't get it.

My stomach growls as I print out the last report. I turn off my computer and lock my desk. Lunch time! Just as I get through the security gate, the elevator dings. Crap! With my luck it's Allison. I don't wait to find out and head for the stairs. It's a nice walk to the deli. After weeks of nausea, I'm starved. Wonder if I could eat a whole double double? I could give half to Marshall. Stringbean could use some meat on those bones.

My thoughts wander to Marshall's steamy morning kiss. When will we have time for us? As I open the glass deli door I spot Pierson and Marshall. Shit! I back up, but feel something besides pavement under my boot. "Sorry." I turn to apologize. "Seth?"

"Mary." He smiles warmly. "Just the person I've been looking for."

I gesture with my head to Pierson and Marshall. "Yeah, well let's not look here." I back up out of sight.

"Let me take you to lunch. My rental's right here."

Hoo boy. Why is he in town? Where's Beth? Is this where I get the 'you're not good enough for my boy' speech? Does he think I don't know that? Figures Beth would leave dropping the axe to Seth. She's too nice. Whatever. Might as well get this over with. "Marshall didn't say you'd be in town."

Seth may not be as sensitive as his son, but he notices I'm not overjoyed to see him. "He doesn't know. C'mon Mary." He smiles, again. It just doesn't look natural on him. "It's just lunch. It won't hurt."

 _Promise?_

Once we are settled in the car Seth pats my hand. "What will it be today? What strikes your fancy?"

"You mean what's likely to stay down?" A burger sounds really good. Hope my taste buds and my stomach agree. "There's a burger place across town. Great burgers but even I won't go there alone. We can get our order to go and eat at the park." Might as well take advantage of Seth's visit. I haven't had a burger from Weck's in months.

"If that's what you want. Where is this place?" I tell him and he puts the car in gear. Seth is a surprisingly careful driver. Well he is old. Or maybe he considers his grandchild as precious cargo. Eh! He's retired. No need to rush.

He opens his mouth then closes it. "It's okay," I assure him. "You can ask, Grandpa." The grin on Seth's face tells me I said the right thing.

"How are you feeling? Is the morning sickness. . . ?"

"The last couple of days I haven't worshiped the porcelain at all. Food tastes funny but I'm hungry – all the time," I complain.

Seth's smile widens. "Beth was like that. When she was pregnant she could eat her weight in steak. Tickled me to see her cut loose like that."

Seth decided I didn't need to set foot in the burger joint. I'm tired, so I don't mind staying in the car. Besides, in this neighborhood someone needs to keep an eye on your vehicle. I almost dozed off in the few minutes it took him to get our order.

I directed Seth to a midtown park with picnic tables and plenty of shade. Since it is past lunch hour, we had our pick of tables. My mouth watered as I opened the bag. Did I have breakfast? I can't remember. Damn pregnant brain. Just when I had settled my teeth around the burger he spoke. "So when are you and Marshall getting married?"

I choked and he got up, patted my back till I stopped coughing, and then offered me a bottled water. I sipped and breathed, putting my head back.

"Did I catch you by surprise?"

Marshall and I have barely decided to try being a couple, and even that was on hold while Pierson was in town. Marriage? I hadn't even thought of it. Dreamed of it? Maybe, but I'm barely able to admit that to myself.

I took a long drink of water followed by some of my supersize soda. "Went down the wrong pipe," I croak. He wasn't buying it. "You did surprise me. I..uh...I. We haven't even talked about moving in together." I stalled, sipping more soda. I gave him an assessing look. "Don't you want a woman like Abigail for Marshall?"

He shakes his head, and puts down his own soda. "What I do know is that my son doesn't want two kids by two different mothers and neither one his wife. It doesn't matter what his mother and I want. It's what Marshall wants."

What does Marshall want? Seth is adamant when he says "He wants you."

 _He does? You mean my years of vicious teasing and bicep punches didn't dissuade him? What is wrong with that boy? That overload of trivia stored in his so called brain must have short circuited his reasoning. Or is Seth kidding?_

Seth seems to have Marshall's gift for reading people, or at least reading me. "I'm serious Mary. He's always wanted you. When you two were first partnered you were all he talked about." I give him an incredulous look around a mouthful of burger. Seth starts in on his own, raising his eye brows and nodding in approval as he chews.

I swallow and take a sip. "What is there to say? There's not that much to say about me."

Seth eyes get a distant look. "He said you had a caustic tongue that got through to even the most hardened criminals. You're a good shot, loyal and so brave he thought fool hardy fit better. He told me enough to know that you are the person I'd want by his side, in a firefight or in life. You saved my life once and I bet I only know a few of the times you've saved Marshall's."

I chew trying to digest what Seth is saying. "What about Beth? What does she think of Marshall and I?" What do they see in me? For that matter what in the world does Marshall see?

"The same." He settles into his own burger, and quiet prevails in homage to Weck's cuisine.

I put the remainder of my burger down. One thing has always bothered me. "I'm not Marshall's type. We don't have the same interests. We don't fit."

"Since when does he have a type that's not a tall brass balled blonde?" He chews some more. "Ever do a jig saw puzzle?"

I can only nod, having just taken another bite. What do puzzles have to do with us?

"You know how one piece has a hole and the other has a part sticking out? Put them together and they are solid. Kind of a silly analogy," he ducks his head embarrassed. _It could pass for an allusion to sex._

I take pity on him and ignore it. "So Marshall and I are like puzzle pieces?"

Seth nods. "Yeah, you two fit and are stronger together, just like me and Beth."

I question with my own raised eyebrows, still chewing.

Seth smiles. "In some ways you and Marshall are like Beth and me. She's kind, sensitive but stubborn. I'm . . ."

"Gruff and stubborn?"

Seth breathes out loudly. "That's one way to put it."

"You gotta know Seth, I'll never be Susie Homemaker."

"You won't have to." He laughs. "Marshall can do that. He doesn't need you to keep house. He needs you to keep him. And Marty."

I shake my head. I knew Marshall had been attracted to me after Horst. Maybe before. I always thought it was the 'bad girl' kind of infatuation. I'm not good for him. "He doesn't need me. Marshall and I too different - like oil and water. We just don't mix."

Seth chuckles. "I'd say you're more like oil and vinegar."

I have to smile. "That makes a great salad dressing, but how does it make us a couple? Marshall deserves better. He needs . . . more." I drop my head and sigh. "More than I can give him."

"Mary, we may know what he deserves, but we have to respect who he wants. He wants you. He always has."

My hair covers my face as my eyes tear up. Damn hormones. How . . . why would Doofus love me?

"I know," Seth exhales. "I don't deserve Beth. I can't begin to understand why she loves me, why she chose me. It makes no sense, but she tells me love doesn't make sense."

I sniff and ponder. Did Beth send him with a script? This doesn't sound like a no-nonsense FTF leader. But does it sound like Beth's husband? Marshall's father? "If Marshall and I want to be together, I can't stay in the Marshal Service. I figure I'll go on maternity leave and then resign and find some other job."

Seth shakes his head. "You can't work for Marshall, but you don't need to quit. You can stay in Albuquerque, and stay in the Marshal Service."

What? Has he got some sort of magic 8 ball that has the answer? "Go on. You obviously know something I don't."

"Stan told me one of the regional Review Board members is retiring. It's a desk job that requires varied field experience, a keen bull shit detector and good judgment. The names of the Review Board aren't known to the rank and file. Even Marshall wouldn't know."

Seriously? How could I keep something like that from him? "And you think I'd be a good candidate?" Why in the hell would he think that?

Seth nods enthusiastically. "Damn straight."

"You're serious." I said it as a statement rather than a question but I had lots of questions. Seth hadn't finished. "It has regular hours and a bump in pay. You'd be home for the little ones every night. There is some travel but only once or twice a year."

I inspected him carefully. "How do you know so much about this so called Review Board?"

Seth ducks his head.

"You were on one," I state quietly. Seth doesn't deny it, but he probably can't admit it, even now. How much does Stan know about Review Boards? Does everyone know but me?

"When the boys were little Beth had her hands full. She never complained about my time away. I decided it would be better if I was around more. I tried, Mary. I really did, but it just wasn't me. Beth knew I was miserable and told me to quit, to go back to doing what I love. I returned to FTF and" he shrugs, "never left."

I'd reached the bottom of my soda and the loud sucking sound made me drop the cup. What in the world was Seth thinking? Why would he think I'd be any good at writing reviews?

"Seth, I don't play well with others." He may not have Marshall's super people sense but even he should be able to see that.

"Neither do I and in that job, you aren't supposed to. You analyze what you're given totally on your own. They want differing views. You've got the experience. Stan tells me you know the manual inside and out. You could do it."

As much as I hate to give up being a marshal, I have my doubts about applying for this position.

"At least think about it. You're having my grandchild, and I want him" I glare and he holds up a hand in surrender "or her to have both parents. As for grandparents, Beth and I will do our best to stick around."

* * *

 _A/N: Yikes! Been writing this since last September! Thank you to all who have the patience to keep reading this story. Thanks as always to Jojo78. And yes, there's more to come.  
_


	33. Play time

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

* * *

Sonn of Mann – Chapter 32 – Playtime

MARSHALL POV

It's early but I'm on my way to Mary's since there are no pressing issues at the office. Escorting Ms. Pierson, had me dissecting her every comment to determine what it really meant. It wore me out. Well that and Marty. He got back to sleep after his nightmare, but I didn't. Pierson, Mary, Marty – too much to think about.

As soon as Marty's preschool opened I called and put Norah on their daycare waiting list. It will be easier on all of us if Marty and Norah are at the same facility. Haven't told Mary yet, but Joanna needs a break. I'm sure she didn't plan on spending her retirement wrangling kids. I feel grateful, but guilty. I tried to pay her but she was insulted, said it was a privilege to care for a child as kind and perceptive as Marty. She's half fairy godmother and half honorary grandmother.

There's a strange car parked in front of Mary's. Security breach? I'm on edge from too much coffee, too much Pierson. If any of our witnesses or their associates know where Mary lives we could all be in danger. Wish I hadn't left my weapon locked in the truck. I sigh in relief as I hear squeals of laughter. "Knock knock." I unlock the door. I can hear them, but I don't see them. Strange. They usually tackle me as soon as I open the door.

"Who's that squealing in my house?" I say in my giant ogre voice. No response. I close the door and stomp into the living room. My father is sitting on the floor fending off Marty and tickling Norah. They don't notice me, but he does.

"Hey Marshall." He grabs Marty's arm and swings him around. "Look who's here." Marty runs at me yelling "Daaaadeee." Norah toddles after him with a quieter "Da." She grips my leg and sits on my foot. I swing her forward and she squeals.

"That's some leg weights you got son." Dad levers himself off the floor and sprawls on the couch breathing heavily. "They are quite a work out." Marty sits on my other foot. One day they will be too big for this. I walk making both kids laugh.

"What are you doing here? Where's Mom? Where's Joanna?" Why the surprise visit? Still checking on me?

"I got in this morning and came to see my grandson." He reaches out and pretends to grab Norah. "When they went down for a nap, Joanna left me in charge. She had some errands to run." Dad pretends to lunge at Marty. "Your mother is waiting for the carpet to be installed. Figured she would do better without me underfoot." He growls at the kids. "I understand Director Pierson is in town."

I keep walking, swinging my living leg weights. "She's leaving tomorrow. I hope. How did you hear about it?"

"I talked to Stan. Any idea why she's here?" He's focused on the kids, but I know that's not why he's here.

"No, even though I spent most of the day with her I don't have a clue. It's hard to prove the value of what we do to someone who doesn't know how it works. I tried to show her the day to day operations. All she sees are the bills. She talks about budgets, accounts and such."

"Should be right up your alley then, son."

I'm taken aback by his easy expression of confidence. I'm on my third trip around the living room. My knees are starting to complain. "Stan and I prepared some examples complete with itemized costs." I get to the couch and sit with a whoosh. The kids get up and take off running around the couch, tagging my knee or Dad's when they pass.

Nodding to the kids I observe, "They must have had a really good nap to be this energetic."

"Joanna and I took them to the park. You've got a couple of daredevils here. They insisted on climbing to the very top of that platform on the tallest ladder."

Marty heads for it every time I take him to that playground. Wherever Marty goes Norah isn't far behind. She's as fearless as her mother. "Joanna lets them do that?"

"No, but they fooled this old man into thinking it was okay. They made it to the top. I stayed under them. Just in case."

"Wish I could have been there." They would have been much better company that the Director.

"I wish you had been there too. Another pair of eyes and a younger set of hands would have helped." He looks around. "Where's Mary?"

"She got a call just as I was leaving. Did Joanna make something for the kids?"

"Yup, she was fussing in the kitchen before she left."

"I'll call Mary. See what she wants to do. You're staying at my place? Right?"

Dad nods but never takes his eyes off the kids. They are busy with blocks and cars. "Sure. My gear's in the rental." He gestures to the curb. I join him on the couch, watching my two favorite little people.

He turns to me. "Son, we need to talk."

Uh oh. The 'talk.' What did I do wrong now?

"I had lunch with Mary today."

He did? Why? "Was she able to keep it down?"

"Yeah" Dad nodded. "You know when you and Mary get married," I sit back stiffly. "She can't work for you." Dad continues oblivious to my distress.

"There's going to be an opening at the Regional Office, here, in Albquerque. Stan and I think Mary is a good candidate. It's a desk job, one that she has the skills for."

A desk job for Mary? Would she want it? I know how hard she worked to become a marshal. Will she feel like a real marshal stuck behind a desk?

"It's regular hours, minimal travel and minimal risk. Do you think she'd apply?"

"I don't know." There was a time when I could have answered with confidence. Now, since Abigail and Norah, I'm not sure what she would do.

Dad stares at me. "She told me she would resign so that you could stay on as Chief."

"She said that?"

He nods.

We've had few opportunities to talk about anything, let alone our future. I had no idea if Mary would marry me. Would she be willing to sacrifice her career for mine? She was willing to sacrifice her happiness for mine?

"Face it son, she's a mother now with another baby on the way. Her priorities have changed, and so should yours." He points at Marty and Norah. "There's your priority son. Don't make my mistake."

I squint and look at him. "Mom put you up to this?" Has retirement changed him so much?

He shrugs, chagrined. "Doesn't matter. It's what I think."

"Let me see how long Mary is going to be." I leave Dad wrangling two laughing kids

"Hey Mare. How's Olivia?" Olivia was new to the program and still mourning the loss of her old life. She turned on her gang banger 'husband' when a rival gang member killed their child. She's never known any other life and Mary is showing her that she can have a life of her own. "What do you want for dinner?" Dad told me she did okay at lunch. "Pizza it is. Dad's here, I'll get another pie."

Dad has joined me in the kitchen, the kids trailing after. He heads for the counter and the veggies Joanna has prepared. I boost the kids into their seats, scattering carrots and grapes within easy reach. "Mary should be here soon. Pizza okay for you?"

"Sure." What is Dad doing? He's getting the fish sticks from the freezer.

"Looking for this?" I hand him a fry pan.

"Believe it or not son, I know what I'm doing." He hands the kids more carrot sticks. "Joanna gave me instructions," he admits.

"Looks like you've got this handled. I'll call in our order."

Mary arrives just after the pizza. She looks bedraggled. This pregnancy is kicking her butt. Someone at the office is sure to notice. Thank god Pierson's last day is tomorrow.

"Honey, I'm home," Mary bellows. The kids scramble down from their chairs and head for the door. Apples, cheese and fish sticks don't compare to Mom.

"Hi Sweetheart. Hello Bug." She hugs and kisses each one. I pout. "Don't I get a kiss?"

Mary gives Dad the eye. He actually winks at her, so she busses me on the cheek. "How about a real kiss?" I whisper. Mary blushes, actually blushes. Must be because my Dad is here. Instead of kissing me she sniffs the air.

"Pizza?" she asks. "Why am I standing here when there's pizza?. Get you and your Dad a beer, and a bottle of water for me."

I obey and throw paper plates and napkins on the table. The kids get small triangles of pizza. They aren't aficionados yet, but they want whatever the grownups are eating. Before the pizza is gone the kids are nodding, half asleep. Mary grabs Norah and I get Marty.

"Think we'll scar them for life if we stick them in the tub together?" I ask.

"You mean you haven't done that already?" Dad asks.

In the bathroom Mary turns on the water. Marty pulls his own shirt off – almost. Norah tries but is frustrated. Soon they are both in the tub, splashing a bit, squirting water from their bath animals. Mary is able to wash Norah's hair because Marty distracts her. Two clean kids are rolled into their bath towels. Mary carts Norah to her room and quickly returns with Marty's pajamas. Both kids come out to the living room to say good night.

Dad takes Norah in his arms and gives her an Eskimo kiss. I didn't even know he could do that. "G'night sweetpea." He hands her back to Mary who takes Norah to her room.

"C'mere cowboy." He bounces Marty on his knee. "What do you say you and Grandpa go to your house and read a few stories?" He looks to me.

Marty nods, "Okay."

"Thanks Dad." If it's okay with Marty it's okay with me.

Dad tosses me the keys to his rental. "I'll take your truck." Dad tousles Marty's hair. "This cowboy and I will see you at home. Right cowboy?"

Marty waved. "Yee ha." Dad laughs as he totes the smiling toddler over his shoulder.

At last, just Mary and me. And Norah, but the baby monitor shows her out for the count, her arm through the crib bars. Reaching for Marty like she does at nap time?

Mary retreats to the bathroom while I clean up the kitchen. The floor under the kid's chairs has less food than usual. Either they are getting neater, or they were really hungry. Clean up done, I sit on the couch, my arm on its arm. The bathroom door opens and Mary makes her way down the hall looking as if she's going to her execution.

She sits on the other end of the couch. Is she mad? Does she think I was ignoring her this week? Between Pierson's visit and Marty I hadn't spent more than a few minutes with Mary. Is she still angry about Denver? Is she nauseous? Maybe I should get the waste basket.

I pat the cushion next to me. She curls forward elbows on knees, ignoring me. "C'mere Sunshine."

She doesn't move. "All right." I mutter. "If the mountain won't come to Muhammad." I slide next to her, putting my arm on the back of the couch. "What's wrong?" Is she worried about the baby, being with me, leaving WITSEC?

She knits her hands together to stop them from trembling. Something has her spooked. She puts her head in her hands avoiding me. "Are you doing this just because I'm pregnant?"

"Doing what?" Her eyes are puffy. "This," she insists flipping her hand between us.

"Mare, nothing's changed."

She's incredulous. "Everything's changed!" Her voice breaks as she whispers hoarsely. "How can you say you love me? I may have been a good partner but I've been a terrible friend. Why would you want me as your girlfriend?'"

I take a chance and put my arm on her shoulder, drawing her closer. After a few sniffs she rests her head on my chest.

"I want you as more than my girlfriend. I want you as my lover, as the mother of our children, as my wife. I've loved you for years. That hasn't changed."

"Abigail," she starts but I don't let her finish.

"Abigail wasn't a mistake – no more than Raph was for you. She just isn't the one for me. She isn't who I need in my life." I stroke her hair and move my hand lower to rub soothing circles on her back. "Dad tried to tell me last year."

"What did he say?" Mary's genuinely curious. I can tell this is important to her.

"He said you're the one."

"The one?"

"You, Mary Sunshine are the only one for his son, Marshall Mann."

"He said that?"

"Uh, more or less. That's the gist of what he said."

"Don't say gist," she murmurs. That's my girl.

"What exactly did he say? I find it hard to picture Seth giving you advice on your love life."

I breathe out a long exhale. I don't want to bring up her father. "Abigail was angry because you called me at four in the morning and I came. Dad found out and said the fact that I left the bed of one woman to go to the aid of another means she is the one." She looks confused. "The one I went to. Not the one I left."

Mary's head drops. "I shouldn't have called you." She lifts her head; I see tears streaming down her face. "I should not have called. It wasn't fair." She shakes her head. Then in a low whisper she admits, "There was no one else. No one I could call. No one who would help. I'm sorry Marshall."

"Don't be." I hug her tighter. She relents and returns her head to my chest. She must be able to feel my heart drumming. "He was right. It just took me a while to see it. I was so dazzled by the future Abigail painted for us I fooled myself into thinking it was what I wanted." I stroke her hair. "Even Mom knew. Do you know what she said when I told her the wedding was off?"

Mary rocks her head against my chest, no.

"She said she wasn't surprised."

Tears forgotten, Mary sits up and turns to see my face. "No shit!"

"It's true. You can ask her yourself. She'll be here as soon as their place is finished." I continue touching her, soothing her.

She breaks the silence. "I had lunch with your Dad."

"I know. He told me." I'm feeling enchanted by her nearness.

Now she gives me an appraising look. "Did he tell you about the job?"

"Yes." Now that I think about it Dad told me where the job is, but not what. "If Dad thinks you're qualified, you are," I assure her. "Are you going to apply?"

Instead of answering she continues. "I talked to Stan."

Of course she would consult her professional father figure. "And what did he say?"

"Pretty much the same as your Dad. He also told me I need to decide what's important."

How do I encourage her to leave WITSEC without making her think I'm trying to get rid of her? Being a marshal is important to her.

She bows her head and sniffs. "I used to think being an FTF marshal was all I wanted, all that I could be. The thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of outsmarting scumbags. Then you introduced me to WITSEC. No shortagqe of scumbags, but fewer hunts. Solving the people puzzle of our witnesses gave me a different kind of satisfaction. But now" she's so quiet I have to strain to hear. "Norah, Marty" a quivery wet inhale, "you. You all matter the most. This squatter in here," she pats her minuscule baby bump, "means everything to me."

Motherhood has marked her, in a good way. "Dad said it's a desk job with regular hours and no field work. You would have time for what's important, for us, for a family." I sigh. It would be my dream come true, but is it hers?

She nods.

"You should apply." Her chances are good. Dad and Stan will recommend her. I know the Marshal Service is under the gun to promote women. This position would help them and certainly help us.

"What about you? Who's going to watch your back? Delia? Charlie?" she snorts.

"Sunshine," I take her hands and look into her eyes. "I'm in the office 90% of the time and in 'meetings'"- I do air quotes just to see her grimace in distaste - "the rest of the time. I'll be fine, and once we get married. . ." She doesn't let me finish.

"What's with the marriage stuff? You and Seth both. He's already married." She tries to joke but it doesn't come off.

"Why not get married? Marty already thinks of you as his mom. I love you. I love Norah and," - I try to lighten the mood – "you seem to tolerate me." When she doesn't reply, I start to worry that she doesn't want me. I take both her hands in mine. "Mary, if you want me, I'm yours. Marry me?"

She turns away. Between the tension of the audit/visit, the pregnancy hormones and the newness of our relationship, she seems dazed, but snaps back. "Is that a proposal Numnutz? Pretty lame compared to your last one. No engagement ring on a paper target? No shooting range? Or don't you trust me with a loaded gun?" she smirks.

I run my hands through my hair. I'm not ready to do this. I wanted to see Pierson on that plane, out of Albuquerque before broaching marriage. Dad has forced my hand. "I planned to ask you over a candlelit dinner in a nice restaurant."

"Ha!" Mary retorts. "It's more likely you'd ask me over mashed carrots as we mop the floor."

I grimace, chagrined. I just have to make do with what I have. I slip down to the carpet, on one knee, holding a twist tie I formed into a circle. "Mary Shannon, will you and Norah marry Marty and I?"

Mary has shrunk back. C'mon Mare. She puts her hands on either side of my face. "You're serious."

"Damn right I'm serious. I want you to be my wife. I want to spend the rest of my life changing diapers, wiping spit up and cleaning up after food fights. And that doesn't even count what I'd do for our kids."

She smiles. That's a good sign. I've never been so nervous. She's gone from upset to battle calm. "So it's a package deal? Kind of a two fer? If I take Marty I get you?" She looks at me, and grunts as she pulls my hand. "Get up Doofus. Get up."

I sit putting my arm around her and nuzzle behind her ear. "C'mon Mare, you know you want to. The sex will be phenomenal. There are thousands of positions in the Kama Sutra we can try."

She shifts away, staring in fake disbelief.

"You're not the only one who can talk dirty Sunshine." I can't help grinning.

"You manage to even make your sex talk literate. Geek!" She shakes her head and pierces my heart. "You talk a good game, but I want to see proof." She pulls me close and her lips anchor mine. I'm breathless in no time. When I'm finally aware of my surroundings, Mary quickly untangles herself and is all business.

"If we're going to do this, the timing has to be right. We can't tell anyone while I work for you."

I don't want to wait, but I know she's right. "So you're going to apply?"

"For the butt widening job downtown? I did. Sent it in after you left today." My eyebrows rise. I'm working on collecting my scattered wits.

"What?" I croak.

"The application for the job in the Regional Office Doofus." Mary declares. "I applied. After talking to Stan, I filled out the application and submitted it."

My mind is whirling. "You. . .you'd give up WITSEC so easily?"

She drops her head. "This isn't easy. Ever since I found out I was pregnant, **again** , I've been thinking. I've got two kids – well one and a half -depending on me. I need to be there for them – kindergarten, doctor appointments, lame parent's nights, grade school, high school graduation," she trails off wistfully. "Leaving WITSEC was the only way I can have all that and you. I was planning on leaving the Marshal Service. But if I get this position, I won't have to."

She would actually leave the Marshal Service? She must really love me if she's willing to make such a sacrifice. I throw my hands up and shout, "Yes." I thought I was going to have to convince her. For once she's used her problem solving skills on herself.

"Shhhh. Norah's sleeping!" She's smiling. "Hey, you were the one who proposed, Doofus. I'm the one who's supposed to say yes."

"Say yes, Mary, say yes!" I bounce on the couch like our toddlers, holding her hands.

She kisses me, long, loving, arousing. "Yes, Doofus." We're both panting. She pulls away. "You'd better go."

"Go. Why?" My body and imagination have already moved to the next stage.

"Because I still work for you." She stands and takes my hand, pulling me up.

"Phhht. Anyone who knows you knows it's more like I work for you," I tease.

She half punches, half pushes my arm. "You do not. You barely listen to me," she pouts as she wrestles me to the door. "You Chief Marshall Mann have a spotless reputation, and we're going to keep it that way."

"I don't need to listen to you," I protest. "I know what you're thinking."

She's standing behind me but I turn my head and see the mischief in her eyes, "What am I thinking now?"

"That you are being driven crazy with lust by the luurve master."

She laughs as she pushes me out the front door.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to all who are patiently following this story.


	34. Supposin' Proposing

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 34 – Supposing Proposing

MARSHALL POV

As I drive back to my place I my thoughts are tinged with sadness. Did Mary really think I wanted to marry her just because she was pregnant with my child? Her self assessment had failed again. Why can't she see what a good mother she's become? What a loyal person she's always been? She's always been good at the job. Right from the start she got results with her witnesses. Lord knows she had me handled from day one. Well maybe day two. She teased me for entertainment. I didn't mind. It was good to see her smile and laugh.

Mary doesn't believe she deserves love. She doesn't believe she should be loved the way I love her. She was sure her father disappeared because of her. She's lived with that girlish misconception all her life. He marked her as unlovable, guilty, and damaged. Some way, somehow I have to prove that she is lovable and is capable of loving me the way she loves Norah. And Martin. She's taken to my mini me with a fierce gentleness. I suspected it, but to see her love for him fills me with awe. I just hope she gives me the same treatment. Almost the same.

I've only had a few weeks with Marty. She's had more practice at being a parent. And women are fortunate. Pregnant women have hormones to help. Makes me laugh because I'm sure Mary doesn't see it that way. She hates being at the whim of mushy sentimentality. At least she's now willing to talk to me about what's bothering her.

My musings have taken me all the way home. The house is quiet. As I hang up my jacket I'm stabbed by painful memories. Abigail's jacket is still in the closet. One of many things she forgot along with her compassion and my love. I take a deep breath to dispel the pain. It doesn't happen often, but after months of happiness with Abigail the disastrous ending still hurts. I should have known she was too good to be true. I may know my witnesses but I sure didn't know Abigail.

I check on Marty. He's fast asleep. Dad must have worn him out. He's wearing warm pajamas but I pull his blanket over him anyway and give him a kiss. Glad I oiled that door so it doesn't squeak. Doesn't take much to wake him.

Dad is sitting on the couch in a pool of light, reading the paper. Not many people get a newspaper in this day of ubiquitous electronic news. I like the printed word, the curating of stories done by a professional news organization, and so does Dad. I never thought we were alike in any way, but this appears to be one.

Dad looks up. "Hey Marshall. How did it go?"

I sit down next to him, weary. "You mean with Mary?"

He nods. "Yeah, do you think she'll go for it?"

I sit next to him and dry wash my face. "She beat me to it. She sent in her application this afternoon. You and Stan did a good job convincing her. I didn't have to."

"Good, good." Dad seems pleased.

I've never known Dad to use his position to influence anything, but he certainly influenced Mary. Given his reputation anyone he vouches for would be given serious consideration. Of course the fact that she's his future daughter in law could make that tricky. Maybe he won't say anything. But Mom would. I smile at the thought.

Dad sees the smile. "Your talk with Mary went well?"

"Yes but she complained that you assumed we'd be married. She didn't like having it sprung on her like that."

He shakes the paper folding it to the next page. "After all these years she shouldn't be surprised." He eyes the new page, but then looks to me waiting for an explanation.

"That's just Mary." Mary is so perceptive when it comes to others but so blind to herself.

"Dad? When you were courting Mom how did you propose?"

He sticks his nose back in the paper and grunts. "I didn't."

What? How did I miss this nugget of family history? "What do you mean you didn't propose?"

Dad puts the paper down and looks my way. "I was a good marshal, but not a very good boyfriend. When I was around your mother," his eyes lose focus, remembering "I couldn't think straight. That this little perfect woman," his voice trails off. "That she would want to go out with me. That was beyond my understanding." He shrugs. "Still is." He gives me a watery smile.

"So how did you two end up getting married?"

Dad puts the paper down, leans back, rests his head on the couch. "We dated. After a while your mother decided we'd known each other long enough. One afternoon we went out and we walked past a jewelry store." He smirks at me. "She asked me if I had ever thought of getting married. I said yes and we went and looked at rings. She didn't like any of them, but we were engaged. Ring or no ring."

Dad turns to me, his eyes narrow. "Have you asked Mary to marry you?"

I clear my throat. "Yeah, I asked her tonight."

"And. . ." he prompts.

"Sort of. She wants to wait till we're no longer working together."

Dad nods solemnly. "That's tough, but she's right. In the long run waiting will be better. Less chance of grievances and messy accusations. As a Chief you are very visible. We still haven't figured out why Pierson was here."

"Maybe Albuquerque was just another box to check off her to do list. Something to look good on her annual review." At least that's what I hoped.

Dad nods. "Could be." But I can tell he's not convinced. "So you and Mary okay?"

"I thought Mary was mad because we haven't had any time together. Turns out she was avoiding Pierson on her own and was glad I was dealing with her."

"So, she is mad?"

Am I really doing this with my own father? He's never taken an interest in me like this? My mother, sure. Maybe Mom has shared my fears and foibles with him and now he understands? Ah well what have I got to lose? Dad is a lot like Mary. He may have some insights.

"She . . .uh. . . she asked me if I wanted to marry her because of the baby. She thought the only reason I wanted to be with her was because she's carrying my, our child." I must look mournful because Dad puts his hand on my shoulder, consoling. "Dad, how do I convince her that's not true?"

"You don't," he grunts gruffly. Well that was helpful.

"What I mean is she has to convince herself. Until she believes it, she won't believe you. Just be there for her. Show her how much you care, how well you understand. Mary doesn't strike me as a hearts and flowers kind of girl. You won't need fancy words. Just show her."

He gives me a few moments to think about what he said. "So you proposed tonight?"

"Yeah. I told her that's what I wanted. She said that was a lame ass proposal, so I got down on one knee and proposed."

"You mean you had the ring with you?" Dad seems impressed with my forethought.

I clear my throat. "Not exactly." Fail again. I put my elbows on my knees examining the carpet. "I used a twist tie."

He roared and slapped my back. "You are in for it now son."

Glad he finds my love life entertaining. "She wants to wait to get rings. I have no idea what kind of ring to get her."

"Don't."

"But Dad. . ."

"Don't get her a ring. Let her pick. Get her to a jewelry store and let her decide. Worked with your mother."

"But I thought Mom wore Gran's rings."

"That's right. We went to several jewelry stores. She didn't see anything she liked. That's when she told Gran. Your grandmother showed her the rings Grandpa had given her." He shakes his head to clear it. "Hard to believe I'm grandpa now."

"I don't remember seeing Gran wearing rings."

"That's because she took off them off when you were little, before they would have to be cut off. Her fingers were swollen by arthritis. When your Mom and I came back from another round of jewelry stores, she offered them to your Mom, and that was that."

I'm relieved that's settled. Mary can pick her own damn ring. Bet she'll choose one with two tiny crossed Glocks.

* * *

The next morning it's just Mary and I in the office. I sent Delia to make sure Allison Pierson caught her flight. Delia had just sent a text confirming Ms. Pierson's long awaited departure. I sigh in relief. From my office I see Mary heading for the break room and go to head her off. I can smell her herbal tea. She doesn't look up but knows I am there. "There's plenty of coffee. Where's your cup?"

"I'm not here for coffee, Mare. I want to talk about our engagement."

"What engagement?" She looks at me over the rim of her cup. Her eyes twinkle and I'm sure she's yanking my chain. _Isn't she?_

Okay Sunshine, I can play too. "So now you're the one who can't remember? Last night – me on bended knee, asking you to marry me. You saying yes!"

She closes her eyes and leans her head back. "Oh yeah and a twist tie for an engagement ring." She opens her eyes and glares. "Really Romeo? Way to seal the deal. Make a girl feel special."

"It was a silver twist tie," I pout.

"Guess it was." She holds up her hand. Sure enough, there's a silver twist tie on her ring finger.

"Damn you woman. You are going to be the death of me." My mouth puckers in pique. "We need to talk about rings."

"Why?"

"Because dammit. I don't want any man getting the idea that you're still on the market."

"So you want to mark me as yours? Why not just get a branding iron." She pats her rump. "Lord knows there's enough space. Why bother with just initials? You could fit your whole first and last name. I know, I know. Matching tattoos. How about. . . ."

I grit my teeth. We shouldn't be doing this at the office. "There are too many witnesses here or I'd. . . "

She lowers her cup and grins. I know she's asking for it. "You'd do what Doo..." She bites her tongue before she says the complete nickname.

"I'd kiss you," I spit out vehemently.

She huffs but then her expression softens. "I'd like that."

I shake my head to clear it. Remembering kissing her was almost as good as the real thing. Shannon virtual reality. I take a deep breath and try again.

"Seriously Mare, I want an engagement ring."

She waves her cup in my direction dismissively. "You had Raph's for almost a day."

"An engagement ring from me, to you. We need to go shopping so you can pick one."

She shrugs. "Don't you think that will give Delia and the others something to talk about? You, me jewelry shop. A dozen plus marshals. What are the odds?" She take another sip.

"Ever hear of the internet dorkeyboy?"

"Some things are better done in person," I can think of several things I'd like to do with her in person, right now.

"Yes they are," she agrees stretching out the sss so it sounds like sex. Okay, it doesn't really sound like sex, but Mary does.

"Tonight, after the kids are asleep," her voice is low, suggestive. "We can look at rings and figure out something out."

* * *

A/N: Thanks Jarlsgirl. Feedback feeds the muse!


	35. Doctor Doctor Give Me the News

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this. Nothing new here. Just a few fixes.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 35 – Doctor Doctor Give Me the News

MARSHALL POV

Delia's arrival bearing muffins brought our engagement banter to an end. Dawson and a few other marshals trickled in. I went to my office and Mary sat at her desk, finishing her current reports.

I'm walking on air because Mary loves me. My euphoria ends when I remember one other thing. Mary hasn't mentioned her obstetrician appointment. I don't even know if she's made one. She has to keep me in the loop. Since I missed Marty's birth, I am determined to be part of every minute of Mary's pregnancy.

* * *

After work, I arrive at Mary's long after she left the office. Dad had picked up Marty early in the afternoon. I can't believe he wants to spend more time with his grandson, especially this grandson who looks so much like me. Is guilt driving him to make up for the time he missed with me? Marty likes him. That's all that matters.

The house is quiet when I let myself in. Mary is mopping the kitchen counter. I know she hears the jingle of my keys when I come up and hold her, my front to her back. I'm never sure how she'll react. Mary's never been a hugger. Pregnancy's emotional roller coaster means I'm never sure where she's landed at any moment. She leans against me and I'm unreasonably happy.

"How are you feeling?" I murmur into her ear. "Any nausea?"

She rinses the last few plates. "No."

I hate to bring it up but I have to know. "Have you seen your obstetrician?"

She shakes her head. "But you have an appointment right?"

Another head shake. I release her as she puts the last dishes into the dishwasher closes it. I turn her to face me. Her solemn expression has me on alert.

"What's going on?" No answer. I take her hand and lead her to the couch. "What is it? Why haven't you been to your obstetrician?" She won't look at me, so after we sit, I put my hand on her shoulder. "Tell me what you need Sweetheart. You can tell me anything."

She sniffs and when I see her face I realize she's been crying. I fold her in my arms as she draws in a shuddering breath. "You're safe Mare. Everything will work out." Maybe a change in topic will calm her down.

"Have you heard from the Regional Office?"

She moves away and licks her lips. "I got a phone call. My application has been accepted and I'm a candidate. They'll review all the candidates next. Those who make the final cut will get a time to come in and take a written test."

Why isn't she happy? "That's good, right?"

"I guess." She looks away.

"What do you mean you guess? Of course it's good." I take her face in my hands and look her in the eyes. "It's the first step. I can't imagine anyone else with your experience and record. You'll do great on the written part."

She shrugs. "I don't know. Damn pregnant brain is messing with me."

"Nyah. It's all still in there. I'll help you review the manual. You'll see, it will be fine."

"What about all the reprimands in my personnel file?"

"Well." I've seen Mary's personnel file and there are only a handful of complaints and a few formal reprimands. Stan saw to that. "That should make you a stronger candidate. Your experience shows you know when 'policy' won't get the desired results." She's never told me what the job is, but something Dad says leads me to think it has to be some sort of oversight position.

"Really? You think not following the rules would make me a good candidate?" She huffs. "That's rich coming from Marshal By-the-Book."

"Yes, really. And I don't always followed the book," I protest. "There's wiggle room if you know how to explain it."

She relaxes and we cuddle for a while. She breaks the silence.

"I'm scared Marshall."

What in the world could frighten Mary? Did she hear from Brandi? Is she in trouble? Or dead? It can't be Jinx or her father, and I know she hasn't kept in touch with her father's second family. She's given birth before. She knows what's coming.

"Tell me," I encourage her. "You can tell me." She still doesn't talk. "If there's anything I can do, you know I will." I lean closer.

She shakes her head and her face curdles. "What if the baby's not okay? What if something I did . . . . I was shot the day after we. . . ."

"Made love." Drunk as I was even I know it could never by just sex with Mary. And it seems that goes both ways.

She nods. "I was in a coma for God's sake. Did that affect the baby?"

"Mare, calm down." I stroke her arms. "You might not have been pregnant then. Fertilization, conception could have occurred after that."

She gives me a quizzical look. "You're shitting me."

"I'm not. I wouldn't do that. Especially not about something as important as this. Sperm can survive up to seven days. You could have become pregnant days afterward."

"But when Donny's attacker . . ."

"That had nothing to do with your reproductive system. Your heartbeat was interrupted by the bullet. You lost consciousness, but nothing happened that would affect the baby."

"You're sure?" Her voice sounds plaintive, beseeching, worried.

I'm not a doctor, but I am pretty sure. She can't hear that. She needs certainty. "You'll see. Once the obstetrician has a chance to examine you, we'll see."

"What if something they did. . . ." she protests. She must have been stewing about this on and off for weeks.

"There's nothing they would have done that would hurt the baby." I'm not 100% certain, but she needs to be reassured.

"What about when I had that reaction to the anesthetic? Would that hurt the baby?" She's back to her hospital stay in Denver.

I'm not sure about that either but I'll be damned if Dr. Marshall is going to add to her distress. For all we know my sperm and her egg hadn't even been introduced then. After all it was only a day later.

"No Sunshine, that was much too early to affect the baby's development."

"Why did I get over morning sickness so quickly? Isn't morning sickness a sign that my body knows I'm pregnant?" I pause to figure out when she had stopped throwing up. Of course I realize I didn't know when she had started.

"Why doesn't coffee bother me? I couldn't stand it with Norah."

She needs to calm down. I put my hands on both shoulders and speak calmly. "What we need to do is write down all your questions and ask your OBGYN."

She glares at me, "What's this 'we' shit? You pregnant too?"

That's my girl. "Mare, for your own sanity and the sake of our baby you need to see the doc. Why worry when you can find out? Just make the appointment."

She's not ready to do the rational thing. "Sure Doofus. And how do I explain wandering off in the middle of the day to Delia?"

I try to soothe her. "Since when have you explained anything to Delia?" Delia's patience and muffins are the only reason Mary tolerates her. Mary never calls Delia her partner and Delia's smart enough to take the hint.

"You know what a pest she can be." Mary whines.

It's true. Delia is relentless when she gets a whiff of gossip. "So tell her you're going for your annual checkup. Tell her you're getting your birth control prescription renewed. That should mollify her."

"Don't say mollify," she murmurs.

According to Mary it was her gynecologist who took her off birth control pills which resulted in our little miracle. "Take the elevator up to your gynecologist then walk down the stairs to the obstetrician's office. Keep it simple. You don't have to lie, just don't tell her the whole truth."

Mary speaks into my shirt. "Why do you know what floor my gynecologist is on?"

"I know because I did a background check on him, and on your obstetrician."

She looks up and gives me a watery smile. "You know I'll be there with you." I'm anxious, scared and excited. Maybe we'll get to see him - or her. It's too soon to tell, but the heart beat should be visible.

Mary has more objections. "Won't it be suspicious if you and I are out of the office at the same time? What will Delia think? I'm going to my gynecologist and you're seeing your proctologist?"

We discuss it as if it were a witness transfer, an operation we've conducted many times. "We'll drive separately." She responds with "Duh."

"We'll leave separately. I'll leave first and park in the lot down the street. You park in the medical building parking structure. By the time you arrive . . . ."

"Okay, okay, "she mumbles into my chest. "I get it. Sounds like a plan." When she lifts her face she looks, not exactly happy, but not sad either. Maybe overwhelmed?

IPS**IPS**IPS**

I checked that Mary called the obstetrician as soon as their office opened the next morning. To her dismay there was a cancellation and she got an appointment the same day. Good. The less time Mary has to stew about it the better. Waiting wasn't doing my nerves any good either. I sent Delia to check on a few witnesses before Mary or I left.

Finally it's time and I am parking at the lot down the street from the medical building. Mary should be there. I take the deserted stairs two at a time. What happened to taking the stairs to stay in shape? It's only on the third floor.

I know the name on the door from Mary's last pregnancy. The waiting room holds mothers to be of all sizes. Where is she? Did she already go in? No, there she is pretending to read a Motherhood magazine. Bet she's hiding the latest issue of Guns and Ammo inside. The seat next to her is empty. I sit down. "Come here often?"

Her elbow finds my ribs with unerring accuracy. "Too damn often," she mumbles. We sit in silence. She's crossing and uncrossing her legs. Probably thinking about the months to come when she won't be able to. Her fingers fiddle with the corners of the magazine but she never turns a page.

A nurse comes to the door and calls "Mary." She raises the magazine to hide her face but responds, "Here." I follow her as the nurse directs us to an exam room. Noting that Mary is wearing a loose top the nurse says she can forgo the gown and just roll it up and undo the top button on her pants.

She leaves and we are alone, two hopeful parents to be. The enormity of what we are doing hits me. The room's temperature the next thing I notice. It's freezing. I know low temperatures inhibit the spread of germs but damn. Mary doesn't object when I drape my jacket over her shoulders. She sits, dazed, on the exam table bumping her heels. "You okay?" When I get no response I add, "Tell me what you need."

That phrase belongs to us, and it gets to her. Her lip quivers. "Those home pregnancy tests can be wrong," she croaks. Before she can find more reasons to worry I take her in my arms and she wets the front of my shirt.

"The Albuquerque ER doctors discovered that you are pregnant, right?" Pregnancy tests are done routinely on female ER patients of child bearing age. Once again I failed her. I wasn't there. "We're going to see in a few minutes. No matter what I'm here, I'm with you. Got that?"

She nods and pulls away, checking the room for Kleenex. I spot a box and hand it to her. After she blows her nose and wipes her eyes she asks, "What happened to your handkerchief? Don't I rate the real thing anymore?"

"Of course you do, Mare. If I had one. Marty yanks it out of my pocket. It's a game we play every morning. I didn't have time to replace it. Sorry Sunshine!"

"S'okay." She wipes her nose as pregnancy waterworks erupt. I've seen Mary cry more times this past month than in all our years as partners.

Finally the doctor and a nurse enter the room. "Hello Mary," the doc greets her while flipping through her file." She looks up and smiles. "I didn't think I'd see you here again."

Mary gives her a thin grin and introduces me. Doc shakes my hand. "Nice to meet you. I take it you've signed up for the long haul?"

I nod in agreement. "All nine months and forever after if she'll have me." Is that surprise I see on Mary's face? She must know I mean every word.

The doctor gives us the early pregnancy spiel and then asks Mary the date of her last menses. "Let's see if what I find agrees with your dates. We're going to do a transvaginal ultrasound. At this stage there's minimal risk and much better resolution. Just take off everything below the waist and use this to cover yourself." She hands Mary a sheet. "If you'll come with me Marshall, we'll let Mary get ready."

Mary glares at the doctor. "He stays." I do? Of course I will.

The doc seems surprised. She must remember that Mary is prickly about her privacy. I don't think her own mother was invited to stay. "If that's what you want. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Mary does as requested and is lying on the exam table with her feet in stirrups. She starts to giggle and I worry that she's hysterical. I've never seen her so emotional – with any emotion besides anger. What could have her going from anxious to laughter?

"Makes me think of my Probe." She smiles. I remember our conversation about metaphor and imagery for cars.

Okay so it is a little funny. I'm glad something got her to relax. "Nyah, you're missing the paper gown."

That sets her off and she's laughing in earnest. There's a knock on the door and Mary contains herself as the doc enters with an assistant carrying the transvaginal probe. The doctor's assistant turns on the screen. "This will be a bit uncomfortable," the doc says, wielding the probe. "Your baby is in no danger."

The doc has picked up on Mary's nervousness. Mary and I watch the screen as the doctor does her thing. "There," doc says. "See that? That's the heartbeat. You can see the head here." She points to the oscillating dot on the screen. "Everything looks normal, Mary. You seem to be 12 maybe 13 weeks along. You should be due about the middle of October. Maybe later. How would you like a baby for Halloween?"

Halloween? I can see Norah as Captain Kirk, Marty as Spock and Mary and I in the yellow shirts and black pants of Star Trek engineers. My day dream is cut short by the doctor. "I'll have the photos for you by the time you're dressed." She gives Mary some obstetrical wipes and leaves. Mary doesn't move staring at the screen. The doc had left the clearest view of the baby on the screen. I'm starting to worry when she says, "It's real. That's our baby."

I help her sit up and hold her. "Yes. She or he is off to a good start, Mom." As Mary gets dressed my thoughts wander back to this coming Halloween – with our baby. What a treat!

"Stop geeking out about Halloween costumes and hand me my pants Dad." Not just kid's costumes. Mary's curves deserve something better. I got it – she can be Spock's mother wearing a flowing robe, her hair in an elaborate headdress.

Wait. Dad? She called me Dad. I'm going to be a father. And this time I get to be there for the entire pregnancy.

She gets dressed and we stop at the desk to make her next appointment and get the promised photos. There's no way I want to go back to work, but if either of us takes the rest of the day off it should be Mary. We go to the desk, make her next appointment and collect the sonogram photos.

We're out of the office in the hallway when I urge her. "Go home Mare. Go home and get some rest." I recall her comments about the commotion at her house. "Go to my place if you think it's quieter." I hold out the keys.

She ignores them and shakes her head. "I'll be okay."

I put my arms on her biceps and look down at her pants. "At least stop at the restroom and . . ."

"And fix my face so I don't look as if I've been bawling all day?"

"Ummm. Yeah. And button your pants."

She looks down appalled.

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A/N: Reviews really do fuel the muse!


	36. Jinxed

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 36 – Jinxed

MARY POV

After his revelation in the hallway Marshall gives me a heartfelt hug and hot foots it back to the office. I find the bathroom, fasten my jeans and wash my face. I walk the hallways alone. I walk right past my gynecologist's office. Should I go in and . . . and what? Yell at him? Thank him? This pregnancy is his damn fault. If he hadn't taken me off birth control I wouldn't be pregnant. And that would be a good thing?

The timing that got me here is unbelievable. Why did Dana decide to bring Martin to meet Marshall two months before his wedding? What are the odds that I would be off birth control pills when Marshall's fiancée decides to dump him? Who knew we would have sex and I'd get pregnant after only one night? Truth is stranger than fiction.

I never wanted children, but now, after Norah, I want this baby with a fierceness I never thought I'd feel. I stop in the deserted hall and use my hands wipe my eyes. I will do everything I can to carry this one the full forty weeks. Whatever it takes, quitting WITSEC, bed rest, anything. I feel my eyes fill again. This baby has to be healthy, perfect. It's Marshall's.

When I first started working with Marshall I would have had anyone who suggested I would end up having his baby sent straight to the loony bin. How could such a geek make it in the marshals? I'd checked him out on that first cross country trip. Yep, there were muscles under that ordinary black jacket. He was a tall drink of water topped by clear lake blue eyes. He didn't have any visible bruises or scars so he must be able to stay out of trouble.

In FTF even the fastest baddest marshals got injured once in a while. Yet Marshall seemed unblemished, and not just his skin, his soul. I couldn't understand how he could do the job and remain untouched. When I discovered his family connection I was sure that was the only reason he made it in the marshals. Everyone knew Seth Mann. Marshall had to be a distant relative. Seth had a reputation as a hard ass hardnosed fugitive hunter. Marshall is nothing like that.

Watching him effortlessly take down scumbags I realized that not only was he strong, he was smart. Minimum effort for maximum effect. I loved watching him manhandle recalcitrant witnesses. They were dance moves with a criminal as an unsuspecting partner. That's when my fascination turned to admiration. Of course I couldn't tell him that. Instead I teased him mercilessly.

Somewhere along the way my admiration became something more. I ignored it. I denied it and when I was frustrated and angry seeing Marshall with _her_ , I took Mark to bed, the ultimate 'so there.' I couldn't stand seeing him with Abigail. But when I saw she made him happy, I gave in. He deserves to be happy. Will he really be happy with me?

Would Marshall and I have gotten together if I hadn't reinstated him as my best friend and decided to take him out drinking to mourn his dis-engagement? I need to think about that when I have more time. I'm down to the first floor, at the door leading out. If I'm not going into work I should call the office.

"Hey Delia."

"Yeah, I'm . . ." It's so unlike me to admit I'm anything but fine, it's hard to say the words. "I'm not feeling so hot."

"Yeah, getting shot twice in two months can do that." I've used that excuse before but it works this time too. "I'll be in tomorrow. Uh huh. You can call me if something comes up."

Delia is just too damn perky, and too nosy. She's been doing more stuff on her own – witness visits, reports, even a few witness transfers with other marshals. She's handled a few hairy situations without me. She's a smart cookie. If anyone is going to put two and two together and come up with Marshall and me it will be her.

I start driving aimlessly. I wish I had a girlfriend – besides Marshall. Someone like Mia who wouldn't mince words or fancy up her advice. I'm at a stop light when I notice I'm near Jinx's dance studio. I never thought I'd say this but I want my mother.

Parking near the studio is ridiculous. Classes must be ending and all the parents have come to fetch their little darlings. Reluctantly, I park a few blocks away. I can use the time to . . . . To do what? Figure out why I'm here? Decide what I want to say? I have no idea. I just want to see my mom.

By the time I walk to the studio the parking lot is empty. There are no tiny dancers at the barre. I push the door open and the bell tinkles. "Jasmine? I've got your shoes," her voice echoes in the empty room. Jinx comes bustling out, holding a small pair of pink ballet shoes.

"Mary!" she smiles brightly, then looks at me carefully. "What is it?" Something in my demeanor makes her change gears. She drops the shoes and envelopes me in a hug. An empty section of my soul is filled. "Sweetpea? Come with me." She leads me to her tiny office which barely has room for her desk let alone a chair.

I give the frail looking chair the hairy eyeball. Will that hold me? Will I fit? Do I really want to be here? What can I learn about being the mother of two from the woman who never mothered me? She _was_ a perfect example of what not to do.

"What's going on Mary?" I take a deep breath. The fact that I showed up at her studio tells her something major has happened. "The baby?"

I clear my throat and lean back so I can fish the sonogram out of my back pocket. Her eyes light up and she holds it close as if she actually could tell what was swimming in the grainy grey oatmeal. "Oh Mary." Her voice is bright with excitement. "When are you due?"

"Doc says October, October 16th. We'll see." I put my hands on my knees bracing myself for her next inane comment.

She smiles at me her eyes glistening. "You can do this Sweetpea. Norah's going to be a wonderful big sister – just like you."

I hadn't even thought of that. So much has happened. Before I can think what to say she asks, "How's your blood pressure?"

Shit, I don't know. I was staring at the sonogram and I don't remember what the nurse said. "I. . . I'll have to ask Marshall, he always remembers shit like that."

"Marshall? Marshall was at your doctor appointment?" Too late. Jinx put two and two together. "He's the father?"

I nod, checking out the floor. She'd know eventually. It's not as if I could wait till the baby is three and looks like another Marshall mini me. "Oh Sweetpea, have you told him?"

I nod. "Yes."

"How is he taking it?"

"Marshall?" I give her a watery smile. "He's happy and hovering," It's more than that. I swear his feet weren't touching the floor after we saw the baby on the big screen.

She takes both my hands. "And what about you? How do you feel about it?"

"I want this baby," I confess. "But I'm scared. You know I'm too old. I shouldn't be pregnant."

"Nonsense," she sputters. "There are much older women having healthy babies these days. You're in good health, you're . . . "

"Mom, I was shot last month." She knows about the donnybrook at Donny's but she doesn't know about Denver and I have no intention of telling her.

Her forehead furrows and she peers at me. "But you're okay now?"

I take a deep breath determined not to worry her. "That's what the doc says." I squirm trying to fit my contours to the chair's contours. "You need more comfortable chairs Mom." My stomach growls adding its own complaint.

"Somebody's hungry," she titters.

It's going to take more time to bring Jinx up to speed. "How about dinner? We can at least sit in comfortable chairs."

"What about Norah?" she counters.

Oh yeah, that. I call Marshall and hear kids screeching in laughter. I ask to talk to Norah but Marshall says she's busy being tickled by his dad. I tell him my plans and make him promise to call me so I can talk to Norah before she goes to sleep.

"Was that Marshall?" I nod.

"He and his Dad are at my house." Of the four of them I'm not sure which two are the kids. I smile, sad to be missing out on the fun. I'm tired and hungry and need some time to face the reality of this baby.

"His Dad?"

I put away my phone and extract myself from the chair. "Seth came to see Marty and Marshall. Beth is working on the decorating part of the house repair. He figured it would go faster without him underfoot. Seth will take Marty to Marshall's place after dinner and baths. Marshall will stay with Norah."

She gives me a pointed look. "Don't worry." I assure her. "He's done it before."

"Well," she says brightly, tilting her head. "Follow me home. I need to change. It will just take me a minute then you can drive us to the restaurant." Mom knows I like to drive. Besides she's the one with a DUI.

I stay in the van as she unlocks her door and drops her things inside. Tutus aren't acceptable at The Antiquity a quiet upscale restaurant with a decent salad selection. I must have zoned out because suddenly she's climbing into the passenger seat. When we arrive at the restaurant I find a table away from the clatter of the kitchen. Jinx perches eagerly on the edge of her overstuffed chair. "I want to know every little thing. Are you still having morning sickness?"

She's really concerned and anxious, not judgmental and snarky. Maybe the booze made her bitter. "I only threw up a few times, but I really emptied out when I did. After a couple of weeks, two maybe, it stopped. I mean I was still nauseous all the time and I wasn't hungry, but I didn't hurl." I take a sip of water. "I asked the doc if that meant something was wrong and she said no, that every pregnancy is different."

"When I was pregnant with Brandi I wasn't as sick as I was with you."

Brandi? How does Mom feel with one of her chicks missing?

"Any cravings?"

"Oh yeah. I want rabbit food, any kind of salad. When have you known me to pass up steak for a salad?"

"Never Sweetpea." She knows me well enough to understand how odd this is.

The waiter interrupts and takes our orders.

"Have you . . .," she whispers. "How did you tell Marshall?"

The restaurant is half empty. We could be any mother and daughter. "He found me worshiping the porcelain god one night. When I fessed up to being pregnant, he got all weird because he didn't know it was his. I had to explain."

Our food has arrived so I can stop talking as I fork another load of lettuce into my mouth.

"Why didn't he know he was the father? He must have been there."

I told her how Abigail dumped him, and how I decided to comfort my best friend with a still-a-bachelor party which devolved into another kind of party.

She takes a sip of her drink – water with lemon, preferred by recovering alcoholics everywhere. "I've never seen Marshall drunk."

I hadn't either. Not until that night. "Well he was snockered. The next morning he only remembered little bits of what happened. He thought that it was a dream." I scrape the dressing off the plate and lick the fork eyeing the desserts being delivered to the next table.

"So Marshall dreams of you?" Jinx makes it sound like it's something reasonable for him to do.

I stare off into space. "So he says." Actually it was Abigail who said he moaned my name in his sleep.

Mom laughs. "So you're his dream girl? What did he say when you told him they weren't dreams?"

It took weeks for us to get to that point. "He was relieved. He thought he was going crazy and was about to make an appointment with a shrink."

Mom smiles and then her expression turns serious. "This is a lot for him to deal with honey. He just found out he has a three year old and now he has a baby on the way?"

"He's okay with it." I take another sip. "More than okay," I confess. "He proposed."

Jinx inhales. Ack! I shouldn't have said that. I run my hand through my hair and scan the room to see if anyone heard me. My mother doesn't have the tightest of lips either. I lean across the table. "You can't tell anyone about this. Not about the pregnancy. Not about the engagement. Got it? Nothing. Not a word." Damn hormones! I wanted to keep the fact that we're engaged on the DL. "In a few weeks we'll make an announcement but until then you have to promise me to keep this to yourself."

Mom puts her fork down, sits up straight and mimes zipping her mouth. Despite her compliance I can tell she's miffed thinking I don't trust her. "Does Joanna know?"

"About the baby? Yeah. She saw me throwing up. About Marshall and I? She probably suspects. She's got eyes. We haven't told her." That placates her.

I spy the waiter with the dessert menu and wave him over. "Seriously Mom this could mean our jobs. Marshall could lose his position if this gets out before we're ready." This baby has a sweet tooth. I check the menu. All the desserts look divine. I'll order two and Mom and I can share. Maybe.

"What are you going to do? You know I'll help any way I can."

After the waiter leaves I spill the rest of the beans. "I've applied for another job. I can't work for Marshall. All that nepotism and sexual harassment crap."

"You're moving?" Leave it to Mom to jump to the wrong conclusion. She looks as if she would actually miss me. I am the only daughter she has contact with.

"Not if I get this job. Its downtown." Oh my gawd. This triple chocolate fudge with chocolate ice cream and chocolate brownie is divine. Despite the two spoons delivered with the dessert, I don't offer any to Jinx. She watches me but doesn't reach for the additional spoon. She knows I'd slap her hand.

"When will you know about the job?"

I cough nervously. "Two weeks, maybe three."

Now it's her turn to reach across the table. "Oh Sweetpea. I may not have been much of a mother when you were young, but I'm here for you now and so is Joanna. And," she brightens. "You'll have Marshall."

She looks at the chocolate then asks, "He actually proposed?"

I smile. "Sort of. He gave me this." I hold up my hand with the silver twist tie. "He told me it's a package deal – him and Marty. I told him getting Marty was worth putting up with him." She laughs.

"Raph gave you a lovely ring," she reminisces fondly.

"Yeah, but I didn't want what came with it – him. Marshall and I will pick out rings when, if, I get the other job."

"What if you don't get it?"

I sigh, and stare off into the distance. "I'll quit. I can get another job."

"You'd quit the marshal service?" She's stunned. She knows how hard I worked to get into the service.

My mouth goes from savoring the chocolate to gulping in distress. "I'm getting too old for the job, Mom. This position doesn't have as much travel. I need to be there to tuck the kids in bed every night."

She agrees. "They need two parents." She's right about that. As Chief Marshall has less chance of being injured.

"Have you talked to Mark?"

I know he's been working some big installation job in Utah. "Umm" I manage around a big chunk of brownie. "I'm sure Joanna has talked to him. But he can't know about Marshall and I till everything else is in place."

"How do you think he'll take it? He and Marshall seem to get along."

"We haven't thought that far ahead Mom. Why can't Norah have two Dads? Beats having none."

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A/N: Thanks for reading this story. Remember, reviews fuel the muse!


	37. You Da Bomb

Chapter 37 – You Da Bomb

MARY POV

My new office at Regional Headquarters is just a high ceiling box with a small window, a door and its own thermostat. The view isn't much. I have to stand up to see anything. Doesn't matter. I have sole control of the thermostat. Now that I'm seven months pregnant I have my own heater. Even though it's a mild fall day I can wear my professional jacket and a sweater all day.

It's hard to leave the kids every morning. I'm actually looking forward to maternity leave when the little ankle biters will run me and my beach ball ragged. But today I'm happy to be working. Today I'm reviewing a case of unprofessional conduct of my favorite – _not_ – white collar criminal, Allison Pierson, former Regional Director. There's a knock on my door and my assistant leads in the guilty party. Oh yes, I am going to party today.

"Good morning Ms. Pierson, please take a seat."

She's wearing that light weight crepe suit she refused to pin her badge on. I let her sit and stew. She knows why she's here. The charges were filed in DC but the Review Board in her former region gets first crack at her. I ignore her, signing completed reports and reviews, fussing with paperwork more important than her. I glare at her her goose bumps are the size of quarters. "I'll start by reading the charges. Sexual harassment of an employee under your command, unprofessional conduct, bribery, larceny, buzz. . . "

What the hell is buzz? I'm looking at the charges and saying the word but all that comes out is Bzzzz. What kind of criminal offense is Bzzz? Bzzz. I open my eyes to my sunlit bedroom and search for my damn phone.

"Mary," I croak. Who in the hell is calling me at dark o thirty? Wait, that's the sun coming in my window. Sunshine? Seems like the middle of the night I'm still so tired. There's someone squawking in my ear. I push the covers back and swing my feet over the edge. Who is this? I check caller id. Dawson?

"What the hell do you want Dawson." Isn't it Saturday? I should sleeping. Except my cherub alarm clock goes off at 6 a.m. every day of the week. If it's Saturday who's in the kitchen?

The voice in my ear is insistent. "Mary, I've been trying to tell you, Marshall's been hurt."

All thoughts of sleep vanish. I slither into my pants while looking for my boots. Where's Joanna? What day is this? Bug, where's bug? I crack open my door and hear the high pitched giggles of toddlers and a gruff male voice interspersed with the familiar female one.

"Dawson, where is he? What the hell happened? Was a witness involved?" I put him on speaker as I finish getting dressed. Dawson gives me the name of the hospital. Finally fit for public consumption I press the phone to my ear and grab my keys. I have to get to him. He has to be all right.

"Good morning Mary." In my single minded rush to the door I hardly notice Seth. Oh God, Seth.

Breathlessly I take Joanna and Marshall's Dad aside. No sense upsetting the tykes. "Marshall's in the hospital. You're coming with me." Seth grunts in agreement. "Joanna, I'll call you as soon as I know anything."

"Go, go. Don't worry about the kids. We'll be fine." She urges us toward the door. It's awkward hugging Norah in her high chair. I give her a kiss more for my peace of mind than hers. Seth hugs Marty, and then rubs noses with Norah. I bend down to Marshall's mini me and look him in the eyes. "Marty. I'm going to borrow your Grandpa for a while. Is that okay?" He shrugs nonplussed. I kiss his cheek. Seth gives me an odd look.

I grab Seth's elbow and head for the door. Away from the little ones I murmur, "Marshall's at UNM. I'll drive." The phone is still in my hand.

"Dawson, don't hang up." I shout into the speaker before handing it to Seth.

Seth's gravelly voice asks, "Who's this?" Seth is buckled up. The tires squeal as I force the lumbering mom mobile to warp speed.

"Inspector Dawson? This is Seth Mann. What happened to my son?" I can hear Dawson's voice rise clear across the car. No, no, no. Marshall has to be alright. He's always alright. There's nothing going on with the witnesses. No one dangerous in town. Right?

When Seth hangs up, I have to know. "What did he say?"

"There's been an explosion," he replies grimly.

"Explosion?" What could have exploded? Where was he? "Was he injured?"

"The EMT's took him. Dawson doesn't know how bad. His truck is toast."

"Where did this happen? Was anyone else hurt?" _Oh Marshall, don't be a hero, please._

"I didn't get the location. As far as your Inspector knows no one else was injured."

I push the gas pedal harder.

The ER is chaos as usual. Seth and I scan the room and spot Abigail. Seth strides over, leaving me to check at the desk. "Detective, what happened?"

Abigail's trench coat is smudged with soot. She crumples under Seth's glare and then straightens her spine. "It appears to have been a car bomb, sir. The bomb squad has it. I assure you, as soon as I know, you'll know."

Seth stands down. "What about Marshall?"

"I arrived after the EMTs took him, but my officers say he was bleeding. A . . . a cut to his head. His pants were bloody."

The desk jockey had no new information on Marshall. I nod to Abigail. "Where did it happen?" What in hell was he doing out so early?

"Rio Grande Boulevard."

"Any idea what he was doing there?" Seth asks. "He didn't mention anything to me."

Instead of answering Abigail glares at me. "I think that's a question Mary could answer. I haven't talked to Marshall in weeks."

Seth fires off his next question using his finest interrogation technique. "What's open at that hour?"

Oh my God. My new favorite bakery is on Rio Grande. I've been craving the lavender and sea salt macaroons. "L'Amour Bakery," I supply. "They make macaroons."

"I didn't know Marshall like macaroons," Abigail demurs. Actually he doesn't but that's beside the point.

"What about ABQPD?" I ask. "Were any of your guys hurt?" Is that why she's upset? Or is it Marshall? She only cares when someone else hurts him?

She shakes her head. "No. One of the firemen was caught by the gas tank explosion, but as far as I know no one else was hurt."

Seth's patience is at an end. "Where's that nurse? I need to find my son." I pity the medical professional he finds. They better be able to take us to Marshall STAT. I take a seat, letting him do the leg work. Baby bean is complaining about missing breakfast. My stomach is roiling. Maybe morning sickness isn't over.

"Hey Mary." Abigail moves next to my chair. "How are things?" Oh no, Miss Southern Fried Detective wants to make small talk? Too bad. I didn't get the small talk gene, and even if I did I wouldn't use it with her.

I put my elbows on my knees so I don't have to look at her. I'm not ready to forgive that bitch for breaking Marshall's heart. I should be grateful. If she hadn't dumped him we wouldn't be together now.

"How does Marshall like being Chief?"

I grunt. "He doesn't talk about it."

"I suppose things at the office are good?"

"You could say that." I've had enough.

"Excuse me." I grab my phone and find a corner, away from her. I let the office know we're at UNM. Then I try Stan's phone. No answer. I'll let Seth take care of Beth. We and the rest of Albuquerque WITSEC are waiting to hear Marshall's condition.

I check in with Joanna who is shocked and worried. She knows less about our jobs than Jinx. I finally track down Stan. He was in the middle of a golf game. Golf? Really? Must be a DC thing. The weird thing is Stan isn't shocked. It's not like a US Marshal gets car bombed every day. Did he know someone was gunning for Marshall?

I didn't call Jinx. I don't tell her anything about the job. Jinx was exposed to enough when she watched Norah. That didn't go well, but we're doing okay now. Thank God for Joanna. She loves the kids and tolerates me.

Phone calls finished I walk toward Seth who has a guy in scrubs cornered. Abigail's gone. Seth seemed to make her nervous. I'd be nervous too if I refused to have anything to do with his grandson. I'm surprised Seth went easy on her. Probably too worried about Marshall to deal with the defective detective.

Seth's whole body seems to soften but the doctor is smiling. Marshall has to be okay. The Doc leaves and Seth puts his arm around me. "The doc says he doesn't have any major injuries. They took their time checking. There was a lot of shrapnel."

I shift to face him. "Have you called Beth?" I never thought I'd see Seth Mann look sheepish. He removes his arm from my shoulder and focuses behind me. "I don't want to talk to her till I see Marshall." A lame but justifiable excuse designed to protect her. Now I understand how they stay married.

We're shuttled off to a private waiting room. As the target of a car bomb Marshall will go to a secure ward as soon as the ER docs are done. Delia said our WITSEC Inspectors have volunteered to stand guard. Marshall hasn't been Chief long, but the troops seem to respect him. He never had my knack for pissing people off.

"Seth?" "Is there anyone at the Regional Office who needs to know about this?"

He shakes his head grimly. "No. They already know."

How does he know that? If I get that job at Region maybe I'll learn the whole secret handshake. I'm not one to see conspiracies behind every bush, or even every ocotillo, but this whole thing strikes me as hinky. The evidence:  
#1 Pierson's visit  
#2 the car bomb  
#3 Stan's calm response

 _You're an ass Mary. You should be thinking about Marshall._

I don't like being left in the dark. Once we know Marshall is okay I plan on grilling Seth. Retired or not, he knows something.

"If I know Beth she will catch the first plane out."

"But if she doesn't know . . . "

"She can't get a flight out till tomorrow. I promise I will call her as soon as we see him," he checks his watch, "and it's after 3 o'clock." He sports a thin grin.

I bet he's longing for the Old West when Marshals were out of touch with their 'office' for months at a time. I can see the appeal. In some cases. This isn't one of them. Just the thought of Marshall being hurt and not being able to get to him makes me nauseous, or is it morning sickness. Could this be love? I feel as if my heart outside of my body, held captive by those I love.

I've wrapped my arms around my soon to be vanishing waist when I spot the nurse and my stomach lurches again.

"Follow me please. Mr. Miller is resting."

I hesitate and Seth puts his hand on my back, guiding me down an interminable hallway. _Damn it Doofus, you better be okay. This baby bean and I are counting on you._

I freeze in the doorway. His eyes are closed, he's the color of milk, there's a tube up his nose and machines are beeping monitoring things that Marshall could explain. Seth squeezes past me and stands at the head of the bed peering at his son.

I take a step into the room. He's so still. "Are you sure he's breathing?" The nurse smiles and points to a display above his head. "The ER docs gave him something for pain, to relax him. His body has been through a lot, but he'll be fine. The doctor will be in shortly."

Seth grabs Marshall's chart from the end of the bed. So that's where Marshall gets it. I can never make any sense out of those things, not even my own. Too many abbreviations scrawled in unreadable chicken scratches.

 _C'mon Shannon. You can do this. You have to do this. This is Marshall. Oh my God, Marshall!_ I don't know how I got there but I'm at Marshall's bed. My hand hovers over his cheek, afraid to touch him, but afraid not to. I lean over him, memorizing every scrape and cut. His eyes flutter and those blue eyes I can drown in open at last. "Mare?"

Thank God. His free hand reaches for me and pulls me down. I climb the bed to hold onto him. He runs his fingers through my hair, murmuring comforting nonsense, resting my head on his shoulder. I pull back. "I don't want to hurt you." The shoulder of his gown is damp. I wipe my eyes. "Damn hormones."

"You're not hurting me. My head looks worse than it is. You know head wounds bleed a lot. My shins took some hits. Don't worry Mare."

"What do you mean don't worry? Someone tries to kill you and I shouldn't worry?" I shrug off my tears and reclaim my anger at whoever dared to hurt him.

His Dad holds out a cup of water with a straw that Marshall takes eagerly. I'm relieved to see his grip is steady. He pushes the cup away after a few sips. "Better go easy with this till the doc says its okay." His gaze moves from his Dad to me. He caresses my hand growing stronger more alert as I watch. "What happened? The last thing I remember was getting out of the car at the bakery."

I shake my head hoping my hair hides my weakness. "You managed to piss off someone enough to bomb your car. So much for you being the nice one." Despite my light hearted description my voice trembles.

"Car bomb? Who would want to kill me?" He grunts, confused, thinking. "Who even knows who I am or what I do?"

"I don't know Doofus. It would make more sense if they tried to off me. I can make enemies inside or outside the service without trying."

Seth examines the far wall and clears his throat. "It's possible that you were the target Mary. Marshall's car has been at your house enough that the bomber could have thought it was yours."

"That sort of makes sense." I admit.

"We don't know enough," Marshall decides. "Who knows about the bombing?"

Taking a calming breath I tell him. "The office and Stan. I told Delia to keep a lid on it. ABQPD is working the scene. Abigail was at the hospital when we got here. Seth was at my place when I got the call so Joanna knows something happened."

Marshall turns toward his Dad, his concern writ large. "Does Mom know?"

"Not yet." Seth takes out his phone but Marshall covers it with his hand.

"Wait Dad. Just wait a minute."

I can see those hamsters spinning the wheels in his brain. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking we have a chance to figure out who did this."

"Of course," Seth starts, but Marshall interrupts.

Marshall gestures for the cup and more water. Seth and I wait impatiently.

"Look, if the bomber thinks he was successful, he'll act now that I'm out of the way." His eyebrows knit and he winces. "Unless Mary was the real target."

Marshall turns to Seth. "Get someone to keep an eye on Mary. Someone not in the Marshal Service."

"You think this is an inside job?" I ask. Seth doesn't deny it, which only adds to my suspicions and fear.

"We just don't know, but the number of people who know who I am and what I do is relatively small. I usually vary my routine, but I've been stopping at that bakery every morning. I could have been spotted there."

Seth takes his phone back but before he can use it Marshall gestures for him to stop.

"Wait!" My pregnant brain is finally getting in gear. "You mean want us to tell everyone you're dead? Even your own mother?"

Marshall nods.

"You can't do that to your mother!" Seth doesn't agree but he's certainly unhappy about it.

"Can't be helped, but it won't be for long. Here's how I think it should go."

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A/N: Thanks for reading and following this story. The muse has a few more tricks up her sleeve. Thanks for your patience.


	38. Night of the Living Dead

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann

Chapter 38 – Night of the Living Dead

 _Marshall POV_

There's someone in the room. I knew I was in a hospital. I could smell the antiseptic and hear the heart monitor. I slit my eyes open and see a masked individual looming over my bed. Topping the mask I recognize the green eyes of my partner, my own angel of mercy. I groan. Why did I think being hustled out of the hospital in the middle of the night was a good idea?

"Marshall. Marshall. C'mon Doofus. I'm breaking you out of this place." Checking my hands I see that the IV is gone. And no tube when I run a hand over my nose. Good.

"You cutting me loose?" I struggle with the covers. "Let me up."

"Nope." She puts her hand on my chest, gently pushing me back down. "Not happening. You're dead, remember?" Quietly but urgently she whispers in my ear, "You better remember or it'll be true." Then she's down by my feet and something tickles. I push myself up and see her tie a tag on my big toe. She quickly tucks the thing out of the way. I lie down as Mary covers me with a sheet, her eyes offer comfort and ask forgiveness. The door opens, the brake klunks and we are on a roll.

With nothing to see my mind spins. Who planted the car bomb? When did they do it? Who wants to kill me? Was it connected to Allison Pierson's visit? Was Mary the target? My death better bring them out of the woodwork. What about Marty?

A door closes and cool night air wafts over me. I pull the sheet down to see Dad waiting at some sort of loading dock. He helps me up and into Mary's van. I lay on the floor, like a witness. Doors slam, the engine starts and we leave. I had no idea Mary could drive so smoothly. Soon I hear the familiar squeak of my garage door. She opens the car door and whips the sheet off before I can reach for it.

Dad is there too. He helps me scoot to the door sill and sit. "Where can I grab without hurting you?" I show him and he grunts as he gets me upright. I give Mary my arm. Sandwiched between them I can walk, well shuffle. We go into the house down the hall and finally to my bedroom.

Dad gets me to the edge of my bed and I flop down. "I'll check the perimeter." Mary ducks back into the hall, her gun down close to her body, her eyes accustomed to the dark. There are a few night lights around the house to guide her.

My bedroom is lit by the moon. I can't suppress a groan as Dad helps me scoot further onto the bed. The sheets smell fresh and the pillow case is still warm from the dryer. Mary. She thought of everything. The head wound aches. The doc assured me I was incredibly lucky. I'm more bruised than broken. A few of the lacerations on my arms and shins required stitches. Butterfly bandages hold the rest. I close my eyes as they throb.

"You sure you'll be okay?" I squint up at Dad. I've never seen him worried. I must look pretty bad.

"Yeah." I croak. He hands me the water on the nightstand. I sip to clear my throat. "Mary's staying. She'll take care of me." Stan had arrived late last night. He worked his magic with the hospital administration and now I am officially dead. My only job they told me pointedly was to heal. I smirk thinking of Mary treating me like a pet and yelling 'heel' while yanking my leash.

Dad gives me an odd look. "She'll probably sleep with her Glock. Just don't startle her. Don't want you shot by mistake." My smile is more of a grimace at Dad's humor.

"I'm not the one who will have to face Mom tomorrow," I remind him. Dad drops his head and shuffles his feet. "Yeah well, it's got to be done if this charade is going to work. She'll understand. Eventually."

"What did you tell Marty?" Mary, Marty and the bomber continued to vie for my attention. Mary was here, the bomber was in the wind. I wanted to see my son. I need to talk to him.

Dad coughs and mumbles. "We told him you had to work late and he'd see you in the morning. I read him a couple of books and he fell asleep. He's okay. I'll bring him over after breakfast. He'll need to go back to Mary's when I fetch your mom." The corners of Dad's mouth turn up as he pats me on my uninjured shoulder. "I'm glad you're going to be okay son."

Mary appears in the doorway. Even in moonlight I can see the bags under her eyes. Her gun is holstered. "Perimeter secure."

"G'night Mary. See you in the morning. Take care of my son."

"I will. G'night Seth."

I pat the bed next to me. "Lie down Mare. You must be bushed. You and the baby need sleep."

She whips the surgical cap off, releasing her long blonde hair. "How am I supposed to sleep when whoever tried to blow you up is still out there?" Her fists are on her hips, grim determination on her face. She unties the mask and throws it on the chair. Next she removes the scrubs. I'm hopeful until I see her jeans and tank underneath. I grimace at the unexpected stabbing pain in my legs.

Mary drops her stance and comes closer. She takes a bottle from the night stand. "These are for pain. Take one now."

"No. The pain isn't that bad. I slept in the hospital. I need to be alert so you can rest." I know better that to tell her to sleep, but if I can get her lying down next to me she might drop off. "Get the acetaminophen from the medicine cabinet."

Mary disappears into my bathroom and comes back muttering, "Why can't you just say Tylenol?" She hands me water and the pills. I gulp them down. They should take the edge off my pain so I can be coherent. It's easier in the dark. I groan trying to find a comfortable position, or at least one that doesn't hurt as much. For the first time in days Mary and I are alone.

"C'mon Mare. Let me up. I'm tired of lying here. Lets got sit on the couch."

"Hell no. That nurse made me swear to keep you in bed." She smirks suggestively and shrugs. "Sounded good to me."

"Here." She found a blanket, rolled it up and shoved it behind the pillows. I giggle. "Never thought I'd see the day when Nurse Shannon fluffs my pillows." I pat the bed and leer at her.

Mary cocks her head, concerned. "You're still high, aren't you?"

I tilt my head and wink. "Little bit."

"Scoot over. I don't want to hurt you."

I move to where she had piled pillows and the blanket. "Better?"

"Yeah," She gingerly parks herself near but still too far away. I want to hold her. I want her to hold me, but there are few spots between the bandages and gauze.

She sits up and takes off her boots then lies back down, surveilling the ceiling. She burrows into the bed and a tear makes its way down her cheek. "God Marshall when Seth told me there had been an explosion and it involved you I imagined Marshall bits raining down all over Albuquerque. How in the hell was I going to put Humpty Dumpty back together again?" Her eyes seek mine. "Thank God you're in one piece and mostly okay." She pats her baby bump. "We can't do this without you." She lies back down, staring up. "Truth is I can't do anything without you."

My hand sneaks over to hers. I hold it and squeeze reassurance. "We've been through worse Mare."

"I dunno," she disagrees. "Horst was pretty bad but at least I was there. I could do something. Today I felt so helpless, so useless."

"Before I blacked out, right after I realized something bad was happening, I thought – If I don't get out of this Mary is going to kill me!"

She chuckled. "You're right. I would have. Well the old Mary would have. I know you had no control over what happened. I just want to find the bastards who did this." Mary can only bare a tiny portion of her soul at a time. Our discussion must have turned too emotional, too personal.

"How in the hell did you survive?"Ah, that is a mystery. What do I know?

"I don't remember much. I went to the bakery to pick up those macaroons you like. The EMTs found me behind the truck. About ten feet away. I don't know how I got there. The bomb squad guys said they found colored plastic pieces all over what was left of the interior." I pause, trying to remember why they would have been in the car.

"I wanted to get more manipulatives for the kids – you know those fit together toys they can build with?" She nods. "They're a good way to build fine motor control. I was looking at the daisy shaped ones. They don't have any sharp edges so Norah can play with them too."

"We can check your accounts and see if you'd been to the toy store recently."

"Yeah, that would work because I can't remember. The bomb squad said the bomb was under the driver's seat. They don't understand how it was triggered. If my weight on the seat was supposed to set it off I would be dead." I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs.

"Whatever happened all that matters is that you are here now. Are you in pain?"

"The pain is manageable. Kind of like a skinned knee."

She winces. "You up for a bit more talk?"

"Sure." She snags one of my many pillows. I let my head bounce and grimace.

"C'mon. That didn't hurt. Did it?"

Her honest worry makes me feel guilty. "No, not really. I'm just yanking your chain." Having her so close is overwhelming what little common sense remains after the drugs.

"I need my best friend." She turns toward me, her eyes locking with mine, all trace of mirth gone. "What are my chances of getting that job downtown?"

I'm slow to respond not sure what she needs from me. "Technically . . ."

She huffs, turns away and crosses her arms over her chest. "Technically I've violated every WITSEC directive. I've slept with a witness. I told a civilian about the job. I slept with my partner and I'm having a child with my Chief." She pauses, considering. "Did I miss anything?"

I wince at the revelation that she slept with a witness and raise my head off the pillow to see her face. Her assertion that Epps lied about bedding her didn't ring true at the time but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Who am I kidding? I was in denial. "Technically, and despite your every protestation you are human. You made mistakes." She snorts. "You're not the first and you won't be the last." I lie back down. "Besides there's no proof of any of that." She knows I'll keep her secrets. I've kept them for years. I turn her toward me by reaching to stroke her cheek with my thumb. She rolls on her side and leans closer.

"If Stan and Dad think you've got a shot, you've got a shot." She closes her eyes and the furrows on her forehead relax. "When do you expect to hear from them?"

"Never." She grunts and rolls away.

"When did they say they would contact you about the written test?" This factoid is one of many among the missing after the bombing.

"Next week," she admits reluctantly.

"See? You're still in the running. Don't count yourself out." I don't know what other assurances I can give her since I'm not supposed to know what the job is.

Damn meds. I can't stop yawning. "In all the excitement I forgot to tell you I signed Norah up for day care at the pre-school we found for Marty."

Her eyes narrow. "Wait a minute. I know I'm pregnant and my brain is mush, but wasn't Marty supposed to start preschool weeks ago?"

"Yes, he could have. But when Dana died I wanted to maintain his daily routine. He's comfortable at your place. Norah makes him happy. Joanna," I pause. "Joanna insisted on watching him. Besides, after we talked about schools I realized there were factors I hadn't fully considered."

"Like security." Mary supplies the missing ingredient.

"Right," I agree. "Like tonight. Norah and Marty are with my Dad. He will protect them as well as we could."

We lie in silence in the dark, watching the infrequent head lights paint the walls. I listen to her breathe. "Marshall, you need to get some sleep." She starts to get up, but I awkwardly throw my arm across her waist.

My fingers gently stroke the skin between her tank and her jeans. "Only if you stay with me Sunshine." She's as tired as I am. I know we'll both sleep better together. Tonight only Dad knows we are here. We both have perfected the marshal art of sleeping but remaining alert. It's what we do on witness transfers. No one has ever gotten the drop on us. Right now I'm feeling no pain. Did Mary switch the meds and give me the pain pill?

"Marshall," She covers my hand with hers. "You're not in any shape to. . . . We can't. Not yet."

"Mare," I whine. Pitching my voice low I cajole. "There are so many things we can do even now. You haven't seen half of my repertoire."

Mary snickers. "Oh I've seen all of your repertoire. I didn't realize that was what you named it."

Ignoring her ribald comment I nudge her shoulder. "I have an entire repertoire of love making. I could rewrite the Kama Sutra!" Now she's guffawing. Good thing the kids are at her place with my Dad. I'd fall asleep before I could lull the kids to sleep.

"How are you feeling?" I hope she's not having second thoughts. My switch from Abigail to Mary must seem hasty. I wasn't replacing Abigail with Mary I was returning to Mary, my first all consuming love of my life.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that? You're the one who was blown up." She sees the look of tender concern I give her. I gently massage her tummy. "You mean the baby?"

"Yes. How is this pregnancy going? Are you okay with it?" my voice is low throaty, clogged with emotion and expectation.

She focuses on me. I see her tank has ridden up exposing the extender on her top button. Her jeans are unzipped an inch or two. "I think I've been feeling like. . . flutters. That can't be the baby can it? Isn't it too early?"

"Maybe, but you'll feel the baby earlier because it's your second pregnancy," I assure her. "Your body has the experience and you know what it means. Of course it could be gas." She gives me a wry smirk. "When's your next doctor appointment?"

She snorts. "You're going to have to come back from the dead for that one."

"I know, I know." We have to wrap up this bombing incident fast. Leads have been thin. I'm glad Stan and Dad are working on it. We can trust them.

"Stan got the paperwork to make you dead pretty quick. Think he's done this before?" When I don't reply she continues. "Robin's been moved. I have no idea where. Stan probably doesn't know either."

Since the Cusatos know Mary and I are in Albuquerque, and that Mary had something to do with Robin's willingness to testify it would make sense for something to happen here. But what?

She yanks another pillow from under me and puts it under her knees. "I hate this Marshall. I'm supposed to be the hunter not the hunted. Have any of Cusatos been spotted?"

"No, but Stan is running facial recognition at all the usual places." I yawn again. "C'mon love. We're not going to solve this tonight. Put on something comfy or just take everything off." I hope it's the latter.

She groans and gets out of bed and roots through my drawers. My eyes glaze and my brain disengages as I watch her wriggle out of her jeans. She's down to her bra and panties when she turns around with a wicked gleam in her eye. She thrusts her chest, reaches behind her and undoes her bra. "You are a cruel woman Mary Shannon." She edges first one strap then the other down her arms. My eyes are glued to where despite my fondest wish the cups stay attached. Then she turns her back to me, drops the bra and slips into a t-shirt. It's my turn to groan.

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A/N: Thanks for following this story. I appreciate your patience. (The muse is old and slow.) Thanks Jojo78 for proof reading and batting around ideas.


	39. Dead Alive

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann Chapter 39 – Dead Alive

 _MARSHALL POV_

 **Next morning**

My eyes flutter open when I hear the front door close. I pat the bed next to me. Aargh. Not another Mary dream? Out of the corner of my eye I see a long golden hair on the pillow. The sheets are cool to the touch but there's a Mary size dent in the bed clothes.

Little cowboy boots patter their way to my bedside. Norah stands with Marty in the doorway, Dad looming behind them. Marty's eyes are as big as saucers when he sees my bandages. Dad pats his shoulder. "Your Daddy is tough, Cowboy. He'll be okay. Why don't you go give him a hug? I know it will make him feel better."

Marty approaches hesitantly, pointing to my head. "You has a boo boo?"

"Yeah, Scout. I have a boo boo but the doctors fixed it. I'll be fine in a few days." I motion him closer, patting the bed.

At the edge of the bed he peers at me. "You will? You'll be all better?"

"Yes I will." I smile reinforcing the message. I don't want him to dwell on this. "Can I get a hug please?"

He leaps forward and I fear he'll hit an injury. He stops before impact and gently pats my chest, then my face. Poor kid has spent too much time around the sick. He eases his arms around my neck. I stifle a groan as he scrapes a few bruises on the way. His gentle peck makes the pain irrelevant.

Norah moves next to Marty. "Momma had boo boo," she confides seriously, eyes big. Marty stares at her. "Momma all better." She nods confidently. Marty takes her words under advisement.

All too soon Dad takes their little hands. "Your Daddy needs to nap so he can get better, Marty. We're going to Norah's so Daddy can rest. Right Norah?" Norah, thumb in mouth, agrees.

Dad leans over and pats my uninjured shoulder. "Don't you worry, son. Cowboy and Bug and I will be just fine."

 **That afternoon**

Per doctor's orders and Mary's threats I'm still in bed. My laptop is logged into the surveillance cams at Sunports' baggage claim. Mom's flight has landed. There's Dad. There's a guy in a red ball cap and a woman in a suit watching him. I'm recording and will run facial recognition later. Right now I need to focus on Mom.

Dad spots her luggage before she sees him. They both reach for her bag. Mom smiles and lets Dad take it. They move away from the crowds. Dad puts her bag down and places his hands on her shoulders. Suddenly Mom's legs give out and Dad catches her. _I'm so sorry Mom_. She stands and burrows into his chest. After a few moments they walk resolutely toward the exit. I'm sure she's distracting herself by planning my funeral. They leave the terminal but I don't need to follow. Dawson is waiting. Dad can spot a tail but he's going to have his hands full with Mom.

Mary's at the airport checking where the cameras don't. Dad's bringing Mom here. Then they will go to Mary's to see Marty. Watching my mother's anguish has wrung me out. I set the laptop aside.

I know Mom, Dad, Mary, Stan and Joanna can keep my secret. Dawson and Delia think they are working on my murder. Norah's too young so the only wild card is Marty. He can't know that I'm supposed to be dead. The chances of him talking to an adult we don't know are slim. I just hope whoever is after me makes their move soon. We don't know everyone in the Cusato gang. Robin is safe. It's some comfort that Mia is beyond their reach. When Stan gets here we'll figure out what to do next.

"Marshall!"

My eyes fly open. Mom is launching herself at me. I roll to lessen the impact of Hurricane Beth. She hugs me tight, repeating my name over and over. Finally, when she sees I'm in pain, she pulls back. "If you ever do that again, I will shoot you myself!"

"I'm sorry Mom, but we need to convince them I'm dead." I wipe the tears from her cheeks. "If there had been any other way, we would have used it."

Mom isn't satisfied. She glares at Dad. "You, you. . . you knew." She stands toe to toe with him. "How could you do this to me?" To my shock she brings her open hand back to smack him. Dad catches her arm. He pulls her into a tight hug and she sobs uncontrollably. She needed to get that out of her system.

"I'm so sorry Beth," Mary chimes in from the hallway. "I wish we had another way to flush out the bomber." Mom moves out of Dad's grip and steps back her eyes flicking to Mary's baby bump. "Better me than you, I guess. I can't imagine being pregnant when something like this happened." Her voice is soft, caring. "How are you doing?"

I hadn't had a chance to tell mom about our OB visit. Mary averts her eyes adopting her 'aw shucks' demeanor Mom seems to elicit. "Doc says I'm about 12 weeks along. Everything looks normal. We. . .uh. . .we saw the heart beat. I'm doing okay."

"Morning sickness?" Mary hasn't revealed enough to satisfy Mom.

"Uumm. Not lately. Just don't have much of an appetite," she admits. "Especially with Doofus dead and all."

Mom doesn't bat an eyelash at Mary's nickname for me. Just how much have Mom and Mary talked? "How far are we going with this act?" Mom wants to know.

"Until we get a reaction, something that leads us to the bomber and who ordered it." Dad grimly explains.

Mom looks from Dad to Mary to me. "Any idea who did this?"Mom's brow wrinkles with worry. She sits on the edge of my bed and gently brushes my hair off the bandage. "Who'd want to kill you Marshall?"

I don't mention that Mary, Marty and Norah as well as my folks could be targets. Mom's got enough to worry about. I dry wash my face, avoiding the bruises. "That's the $64,000 question," I sigh. "It has to be someone who knows what I do. Which means current and past witnesses and the Marshal Service."

"But not everyone in the Service." Dad explains. "Marshall's office doesn't appear on any org chart. Stan and I will figure out who knows. Mary and Marshall will be going over their witnesses. Right now we figure the perp is connected to a recent witness. We're already working that angle."

Mary adds her two cents. "ABQPD and the Fire Department think he's dead."

Pondering the variables I suggest, "We might have to tell Abigail."

"Over my dead body," Mary's fists are on her hips. "We know she doesn't have your best interest at heart." I feel warm all over hearing Mary protect me.

We could use the help but we need someone we can trust. "It could be crucial to have someone in the know at ABQPD. There could be leads not reported because no one knows where they fit."

"Okay, okay." Mary drops her fists. "I can see we need to know what ABQPD knows, but I don't trust her. I'll find someone else."

Really? I wonder who she has in mind. Mary isn't known for being chummy with the locals – except for Dershowitz and he's gone. Has she made nice with someone? My hackles rise when I think of all the men who leer at her whenever she's at police headquarters.

Dad puts his arm around mom's shoulder. "Don't you worry, hon. I've ramped up security here and at Mary's. We'll get these bastards."

Mom turns and mumbles into his chest. "Yeah, well do it soon. I can't keep this up for long."

Dad kisses her forehead. "We'll get it done," he replies gruffly.

"What about your brothers, Marshall?" Mom raises a good point. "What do we tell them?"

"Have you heard from them?" I have no idea how far the news of my death has traveled. "I'd like to keep them out of this." I catch Dad's eye. "But if you have to tell them, they might be able to help."

Dad strokes his chin and nods. "True. We'll bring them in if we need to."

Mom brightens. "They could come for your funeral. Just think, all you boys in the same place for once. It's been too long," she complains fondly.

Yes, and the whole Mann clan would be a tempting target for the bomber. If that's what it takes, I'm sure my brothers would do it, but I'm not going to say anything now.

"We'd better get going Beth. Joanna's making dinner and we need to get Marty to bed at a decent hour. Turning my way Dad assures me, "I'll tell Joanna what's going on."

My eyes droop. I'm fading fast. I feel Mom kiss my forehead then pull the sheet up and close the curtain. "We'll take care of things Marshall." I blink. "Rest." Her eyes have an inappropriate twinkle as she leaves the room. "I've got a funeral to plan."

I must have drifted off. Next time I open my eyes the room is dark and Mary is lying next to me. "Did I wake you?" She touches my face tenderly, her fingers sliding down my cheek to my lips. I lick my lips inviting her touch. Then she rockets out of bed and hauls off and smacks me. What the hell? Her face is distorted with anger? That was no love tap. Her eyes focus on me. She's a tigress and I'm dinner.

"Your mom bounced back from your 'death.' I could never do that," she threatens. "I'd handcuff you to the bed and make you earn my forgiveness."

That makes me smile. Mary's love slave? I could do that. I crook my finger inviting her close. Only one woman can go from pissed to passionate in 60 seconds. She's peeling off her tank top, her eyes full of mischief. Her hair is tousled and she smells like - Mom's enchilada casserole?

"Dammit Doofus," she mumbles, her words caught in the fabric of her tank top. "I'm in my second trimester, my hormones are exploding and we haven't had sex in months." She whines, frustrated. "What are you going to do about it?"

I squeak.

Wait, no. I'm not squeaking. That's a door, my bedroom door.

Oh my God another erotic dream. I would blame it on the meds but they should be out of my system by now. I'm consumed with frustration. We haven't had any us time in weeks. Becoming Chief, Pierson's visit, the kids and now the bombing have stolen every damn minute. Ah well, maybe it's for the best. My bruises have bruises. Making love to Mary isn't impossible right now but it wouldn't be as enjoyable as it should be for either of us. Dammit!

My bedroom door creaks and I'm greeted by the real Mary. I'm chagrined to see she's fully dressed. She slides into the room, shutting the door quietly.

"You up for some grub? Your mom cooked." The enchilada casserole seems to be the only thing I didn't imagine.

"No, thanks. Maybe later. I need to get up."

She walks to the side of my bed and pushes the hair out of my eyes checking my temperature. "Bathroom?"

"Yeah. Gimme a hand." I scoot to the edge of the bed and Mary puts her arm around me as I gingerly sit up. I know the drill. Feet flat on the floor I wait for the nausea and dizziness to pass before trying to stand. Her arm moves to my waist as she stands with me. Mary lets me shuffle to the toilet on my own. Tasks completed I sit down heavily on the bed.

"Are my folks still here?"

"Nyah. Your Mom made dinner then they went to my place. They're coming back here to sleep so it will look like someone lives here."

"Because someone does." Makes sense. I hate to think of Mom and Dad in the line of fire. At least I can protect them by being dead.

I tug her hand and she sits down next to me. We're both tired, but something's been bugging me. "Mare? Did you ever do a strip tease for me?"

She pulls away. "No!" Her gaze becomes vacant staring at the wall. "Maybe?" She shrugs and her smile turns uneasy. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I just had this"- I rub her back - "dream of you whisking off your tank top and throwing it across the room. You're in your bra and panties." I move closer, hooking my chin over her shoulder avoiding my injuries. "You unclasp your bra and lower first one strap," I put my fingers under her tank. No pesky bra this time. "And then the other." I circle my fingers around the fullness of her breast zeroing in on her nipple. She squirms but doesn't object. "Ring any bells?"

She turns giving me better access to her softness. She polishes my cheek with her hand and gives me a wry sad smile. "Just my luck. The first time we made love you were bombed. Now you are recovering from being bombed. If you weren't I'd ring your bells!"

"Promises promises."

"Yeah well for now, that's what they'll have to be." She gives me a resounding smack on the lips as I hear the front door open.

They're back, dammit.

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A/N: I appreciate everyone who is following this story. Thanks Meg and Jarlsgirl for the reviews. And thanks to my wingman - Jojo78.


	40. Stan's Plan

A/N: Re-post to correct a major divergence from canon. Can you find it?

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann - Chapter 40 – Stan's Plan

 _MARSHALL POV_

Next day

Much to my disgust I'm still in bed. Mary is good but she doesn't have a patch on Mom who in addition to making sure I stayed in bed and insisted on changing my bandages. I think she just wanted to see for herself how badly I'm injured. Dead men don't get or make phone calls so I spend a good chunk of the day napping. From time to time I hear Mom talking, making bogus funeral arrangements.

Dad's been gone most of the day. He must have returned during one of my naps because he opens the bedroom door. "You got a visitor, son."

Stan bustles in his suit rumpled and his face weary. I smile and wave. He examines me from the side of the bed and hesitates to shake my hand till I grab his firmly. "Marshall, how bad is it? You look . . . ." Stan's brow furrows clear to his bald spot.

He seems like the same old Stan. His new position hasn't changed him. "It looks worse than it is." I assure him. "Most of the damage is superficial, cuts and bruises." Truth is the doc couldn't explain how I had survived.

Dad clears his throat."Thanks for coming Stan."

Stan looks at Dad. "I got in yesterday but I went to the office first." He presses his mouth into a thin smile and turns to me. "We've got some good people there Marshall. They're pretty torn up."

I was worried about that. I feel guilty for causing them needless grief. "They don't know I'm not really dead?"

Stan fidgets with his tie, averting his gaze. "Uh no. Your Dad and I figured the fewer people who know the better." I hate it but understand. We can't afford any leaks. "I thought about telling Dawson and Delia. They're working the bombing. For now, it's safer if they don't know. Everyone thinks I'm filling in as Chief until the vacancy is filled. The bombing has shaken everyone. And not just in Albuquerque." He looks up. "Washington's concerned. Hell, they're worried. The US Marshal, the DoJ, the FBI are all being pulled into the investigation."

"Is that going to be a problem? If this was an inside job. . . ." I leave it there. They both understand what it means. "Do you know who's involved from Washington?"

Stan smiles for real this time. "Me." He coughs to hide his chuckle. "I was sent to run the investigation, and the office."

I release a huge sigh. "About time we caught a break! What about the locals? Do you think the fire department or the police suspect?" They were at the scene. The EMTs acted as if my injuries weren't life threatening. "Abigail would ask about me."

"No," Dad interjects. "The doc wrote that you had an internal injury. It didn't show up till they got you to the ER and then it was too late. Your medical record says you bled out. The fire department accepted the doc's report. Abigail" he snorts with disgust "doesn't need to know." I'm beginning to see just how deep Dad's dislike of Abigail runs. How did I miss that?

"So what's the plan, Stan?" My 'death' has been emotional for all those involved, even those who know it's not true. We've got to get past that to figure out who planted the bomb.

Dad leans out into the hallway. "Your mom needs to be part of this."

"What about Mary?" I know Mary has given this a lot of thought. She can turn her fugitive tracking instincts inside out. That's just what we need.

Stan coughs, and looks sheepish. "Uh, she's still at work. Y'know, keeping her ear to the ground, checking on witnesses. She'll be by later."

She's up to something, something dangerous, and Stan knows. _You and I are going to have a little talk, Sunshine. No secrets._

"Okay, where do we start?" Mom's joins us drying her hands on my ' _licensed to grill_ ' apron. "Do you want to sit up more Marshall?"

"Yeah. Thanks Mom." She stuffs two more pillows behind my back.

When I'm settled, Stan tosses me a folder. "That's the bomb squad report. Whoever did this was no amateur."

Leafing through the document I whistle when I come to the interesting part. "The detonator was pretty sophisticated. It could have been set to blow the second or even third time weight was added or removed from the driver's seat." I look to Dad and Stan. "Who has that kind of expertise?"

They shake their heads, but Mom asks, "If the bomber has some unique knowledge won't that narrow the pool of suspects?"

"Yeah, if we know who makes that type of bomb." I think about the witnesses Mary and I have had and come up with the one bomb maker. "Dominic Difazzio"

Stan jerks his head up, remembering. "The fish guy?"

"Yes. How do we get to him?" I don't know if it's the explosion or what but I can't remember what happened to Dominic after we caught him making bombs again.

Stan puts his hands in his pants pockets and rocks back on his heels. "He's in federal lock up." Stan looks at Dad. "Any way you could get a visit without tipping our hand?"

Dad grumps and shrugs. "There's a legitimate investigation into the bombing. Since you're in charge you can hook me into it. Right?" I can tell Dad's going through his mental rolodex as well figuring out where Dominic could be and who he knows at that location. "You give me the technical details; I'll find him and talk to him."

If she was here I know Mary would insist on going. No way I'm letting my pregnant - _not yet but soon to be—_ wife near that sociopath. Hmm I always suspected there was more to Dad's career than FTF. What's his connection to Federal Correction? Maybe I'm not the only one keeping secrets. Mom looks a little lost, so I tell her, "I met Dominic on the job." Her mouth purses in an 'o' of understanding.

"Do you have a list of people, other than witnesses, who know you're a WITSEC inspector?"

Stan! Leave it to my former boss to spill the beans. All these years I've carefully refrained mentioning WITSEC to my mother. I watch her reaction. She doesn't seem surprised. Dad knows so she does too. All these years we have been keeping that secret.

I hand a sheet to Stan while he fumbles for his reading glasses. I'd been working on compiling the list he just requested. He scans down the sheet and looks up. "Raph?" I nod. While I think the probability is low that Raph would tell anyone this is too important to leave anyone out. I hate to rat Mary out but . . .

"Who's Winston Chaffee?" Stan asks.

"Abigail's father."

Stan purses his lips, gazing over his reading glasses. "You told him?"

I tilt my head and shrug. "No," I assure him. "Abigail figured it out pretty quick. I never confirmed it, but she knew and I'm not saying she told him. He was law enforcement. I think he made the complaint that I was morally unfit to be Chief." Stan nods, confirming that Abigail's father had filed the complaint.

Done perusing the names, Stan waves the list. "Have you thought of anyone else since you made this list?"

"No, but you should ask Mary."

"Ask Mary what?" Mary pokes her head into the room. I hadn't heard her come in. Mom hugs her and Mary willingly returns the hug. Mary must be shook up if she's accepting and giving hugs. Mom's always been able to tame Dad, so I'm not surprised Mary accepts her.

"How are you feeling hon? I wanted to get over to see those tykes, but I'm taking care of my boy today. Lord knows someone as to keep him in line. He knows a lot of doctor stuff but makes a terrible patient."

I'm incensed. I've been doing everything the doc ordered. "That's not true!"

Mary and Mom both ignore my objection. "I'm fine. Joanna says the kids had a good day." I am once again thankful for Joanna and Norah. "She says Marty can't wait to see his Daddy," then adds quickly "and his Grandma and Grandpa."

Stan gives her the sheet of names. "Can you think of anyone else who might know you and Marshall are WITSEC Inspectors?"

"Lemme see." She takes the paper and runs down the list of names. I know she's gotten to Raph when I see her guilty grimace. "What about Leonard Difazzio, Dom's cousin. He's still in the program as far as I know. He wasn't our witness but he knows who we are."

Now I remember. He helped us bring in Dominic. "Dad is going to give Dom a visit. Bomb makers are a breed apart. He might know who had the skills to construct my car bomb."

She nods and begins "Dom liked me. I can..."

"No," I'm adamant. "You're not going. You" I point at her, raising my voice and glaring, "are devastated by the death of your partner. You are helping his mother arrange an appropriate memorial service."

She glares at me and my eyes plead with hers.

"Fine," she exhales and leans back against the wall.

Really, that's all it takes? Pregnancy hormones working in my favor? Or does she appreciate how critical it is to maintain the illusion of my death?

Dad pipes up. "There shouldn't be a problem finding him in prison. I'll go to the office with Stan tomorrow. It should just take a couple of phone calls." Stan agrees.

"What do we have on the Cusatos? Anything new?" Mary asks.

This time it's Stan who answers. "Charlie and I have been running facial recognition on all the usual points of entry."

"Charlie?" I protest. We hadn't agreed to let Charlie in on my undeath.

"Relax Marshall. He doesn't know. He thinks it's because of the attack on Robin. He wants to be working your case but I convinced him that the regular work must go on. He's not happy about it."

I had to agree that Charlie was the most technically adept of all the marshals currently in Albuquerque. I put my head back and close my eyes. What are the chances Charlie would link the Cusatos to the bombing?

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A/N: I'm aiming for shorter but more regular updates. Thanks Jojo78 for proofreading. All mistakes are mine alone.


	41. Alone at Last

A/N: This is a new chapter. I'm posting this to atone for yesterday.

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann - Chapter 41 – Alone at Last?

 _MARSHALL POV_

I close my eyes just for a minute. I squint when I feel a nudge to my good shoulder and hear, "Marsh. Marshall." _Mary_? "Here, take these." Mom, Dad and Stan are gone. I focus on the meds in Mary's hand. Who knew Mary could do the nurse thing? "When were your dressings changed?"

I'm still groggy, but not enough to miss the chance to tease her. "You just want to get me nekkid."

"Nyah." She grabs the bottom of the single cotton sheet covering me and whips it off. She stops and stares, admiring the view, I hope. "If I wanted that I'd just strip those rocket ship boxers off your skinny ass." She checks the bandages on my legs. "You've got to be 100% before we make your rocket ship blast off." Before I can retort she ducks into the bathroom.

I lie back as she puts fresh gauze and bandages on the cuts on my legs. My shoulder still needs a large gauze pad. Something shielded my torso and groin area. Looking at the bomb squad report I could see the blast pattern. A crime scene photo shows the bulletproof vest embedded with multicolor bits. I don't remember holding it, but that would explain my injuries. Both Mary and I owe our lives to Kevlar vests. Thank you Casimir Zeglen and Stephanie Kwolek!

While I was thanking the inventors, nurse Mary finished and packed up the gauze and bandages. I hold her hand and stroke it with my thumb."Thanks Mare." We've had a rough couple of days. This is my first chance to really look at her. There are dark circles under her cloudy green eyes.

She shrugs. "I'm no Florence Nightingale but I can handle band aids. Besides, I've got a vested interest in your recovery." She peels back the edge of my head bandage. "This is looking better," she declares. "It's stopped seeping." She leaves to get more gauze strips and I miss her already.

I'm still tired. I hadn't spent enough time at the bathroom mirror to inspect my head wound. It's good to know it's healing. With Mom and Dad taking care of things I've been able to rest physically but mentally I'm a crazed squirrel in a cage. Who bombed my car?

Frankie Nutz aka Frankie Santoro would be a good candidate. He had connections and no scruples. Richie Mastro is dead, but maybe someone is out to avenge his death? I find that hard to believe. He was a nasty piece of work. Who would care? Horst Vanderhoff, aka Lola has motive, but this isn't his style. He'd do something subtle and personal. Bombs aren't subtle. I keep coming back to the Cusatos. They have motive - Robin's defection - and means enough to create an opportunity. The timing is right.

Was I even the target? Or did they want Mary? My car has been parked at her place regularly. Do they know where she lives? Maybe they thought the truck was her work vehicle? Does it matter which one of us was the target? We've been partners for years. They might know that hurting one hurts us both.

Mary's back. The whole room seems brighter. She sits and leans over to change the bandage on my head giving me a view of what's barely hidden under her tank top. No fair Sunshine. She's trying to distract me so I don't ask the question that's been bothering me. "Where were you today? Stan wouldn't give me a straight answer."

Mary sits up and huffs. "If you must know Nosy-britches I was at the regional office taking the written test."

"Uh huh," I demur. "Why wouldn't he tell me that? He knows I know you applied for another job." _That's not the whole story missy._ She cringes a bit when I call her on her bullshit. "That's not all."

"No," she admits. "I did some digging at ABQPD, the FBI and the AUSA's offices."

"Okay Sunshine, and how did you do that without getting caught? I would have heard from Abigail if you'd been at the police department."

She looks smug. "I never said I went there. Well, I did go to the AUSA's office since I was in the building. Did you know they have a espresso machine?"

"No I did not." I shake my finger at her. "You're not supposed to drink coffee. No caffeine!." I shift my gaze to her still flat tummy.

"I didn't drink it numnutz. I just hung out there to get the latest gossip about the bombing."

"And?"

"There were a few theories – a mob hit, local gang revenge for messing up their business."

Lala and his gang. I had forgotten about him. He knows I'm a marshal and he certainly saw my face often enough when I was hunting Mary's shooter. "Any other theories?"

She won't look me in the eye. "What's wrong Sunshine? What did they say?"

"It's kind of two sides of the same coin. One side said you were dirty, bribed someone to become Chief. The other side thought you were a whistle blower who'd come across some evidence on someone higher up the food chain like Allison Pierson. You were killed to make sure that evidence never saw the light of day."

I don't have a whole lot of interaction with the DoJ and FBI, but I thought I had a reputation as a good marshal, a decent guy. Then I notice her guilty expression.

"What did you do?"

She coughs. "It wasn't my fault if the douche bag who said you were dirty couldn't hold his coffee." She winces. "It kinda spilled all over his pants." Her hand flutters in front of the zipper on her jeans. "You know if he'd been wearing jeans the stain wouldn't have been so obvious." Her eyes are open wide, trying without success to look innocent. "He's definitely got a trip to the cleaners in his future."

"Way to win friends and influence people Mare." I didn't dare tell her I was glad she was willing to defend me.

"My real digging was done virtually or digitally or whatever you want to call it."

"Mare, the computers at Marshal's office are monitored."

"I know that numnutz. I never said I went online. I asked in person or used the phone." When I raise my eyebrows she clarifies – "over a secure line."

"And who did you call Sunshine? I'm sure it wasn't Ghostbusters."

"Nope" she tilts her head in acknowledgement. "I called Eleanor."

"Eleanor?" Mary and Eleanor. Who would have thought those two would end up on good terms?

"Yup. I filled her in on what's been happening." When my eyebrows rise at her unilateral decision to let Eleanor in on our charade she defends her action. "We both know that woman can keep a secret. She said to tell you she's sorry you're hurt and that she'll kick your ass if you don't take the time to recover."

I smirk. "She said that?"

She shrugs one shoulder and returns my smirk. "Not exactly, but it's what she meant." I have my doubts about adding Eleanor to our three ring circus, but there's no doubting her expertise and connections.

"What's the matter? You think I shouldn't have called Eleanor?"

"You do realize your call was probably recorded?"

Mary shakes her head. "No, Eleanor is good at covering her tracks." True. We should be okay.

"You should have told me where you were going. I thought you'd found a Cusato to grill." Her mouth presses into a thin line. She's pissed. She thinks I don't trust her.

She narrows her eyes. "Since we don't have any known members of the Cusato gang in Albuquerque, that would have been damn hard to do. Besides," her voice quieter, "I wouldn't do anything to put our baby in danger."

Our baby. Oh my. Our baby. How I love those two words, especially coming from Mary. "Good. That's good." I'm relieved, even if I don't entirely believe her. Burned into my memory is a heavily pregnant Mary in black battle gear using a big black gun to mow down Ronnie's would be assassins. She saved all our lives that day. Even Abigail's. God she was hot, every FPS gamers wet dream. Only the ammo was live and the bad guys real.

Mary interrupts my day dream. "No it's not good Marshall. We have no leads. You can't stay dead forever!" She's exasperated and starting to wind herself up.

I shake myself out of that awful/wonderful memory. "I know. Be patient. Dad's going to see Dominic. He'll get names and we can go from there." I've got to get her calmed down. It's not good for her or the baby.

"Aren't you going home?" Lord knows I don't want her to leave but I thought she would want to see Norah as soon as she could.

"You trying to get rid of me Doofus? I'm not leaving you alone. We both know what kind of trouble you can get into." Good! I got her to focus on me instead of her frustration. "I'm staying till your folks bring Marty and Norah to say good night. Then Norah and I will go home."

I tug on her arm and slowly scoot over encouraging her to lie next to me. "I wish you could stay."

She sighs, and combs her fingers through my hair. "Me too. This sucks." I know I've won when she takes off her boots. She lies down and tucks her head into my shoulder. "It feels weird being here with you."

"Why? What do you mean?" Is she having second thoughts about us?

"You, Abigail, this house, this bed you two shared." _Way to kill the mood Mare_. I ease onto my back and put my arm over my eyes.

She rolls on her side, facing me. "Do you miss her?"

I consider for a moment, searching my mind, my heart. "I miss the future we planned." I turn, facing her. "But Mare, you've got to know, you, Marty, Norah, this baby – this is the future I never thought I'd have. Being here with you, like this, is my dream come true."

"Yeah?" Her eyes shine with tears she won't allow to fall.

"Yeah. C'mere."

This kiss starts out careful but ends up wet, wild and wonderful. "You trying to kill me?" I'm breathing hard, and she's panting. She kisses her way from my lips to my cheek ending with a sharp nibble to my ear, gently rubbing her hands over my chest. I get my hands under her tank and push it up, exposing two of her best assets.

Suddenly she sits up and takes the tank off. Lying down on her back she tells the ceiling, "It's warm in here."

"Second trimester hormones?" I run my hand up and down her arm. She does feel warm and looks hotter.

She worms around to find a comfortable spot ending up on her side, facing me. "Is that some fancy way of asking if I'm horny?"

I grin provocatively. "Many pregnant women experience heightened sex drive. There's increased blood flow to your vulva making it feel swollen, warm." I'd like to take her temperature there.

"Don't say vulva, pervert." Her response is perfunctory.

I run one finger under her bra strap. "I wish you weren't wearing this." What I wouldn't give to see her breasts in all their glory.

"Me too. Damn thing is uncomfortable." She grumbles, but doesn't move to take it off. She does let me reach over and palm her breasts. They overflow the cups of her white lace bra. I fondle them reverently. "Your breasts are preparing to feed our child." I can't wait to see them engorged with milk. "You know," I declare slyly, "we need to toughen your nipples for nursing."

She hikes one eyebrow and gives me a saucy are-you-shitting-me look. "Oh **we** do, do **we**?"

"Yes!" I pluck the nipple poking through the lace. I can't believe I get to touch her like this. After years of dreaming of my two (well maybe three) favorite places in the world I finally get to explore them.

Mary, shivers and moves her arm back inviting me to continue. "This pregnancy isn't like the last time. My breasts never ached like this. This time . . . ."

"Last time you didn't have me to take care of them." And oh am I going to take care of them! I capture both turgid nipples and rotate them right through her bra. Once, twice, three times, followed by a gentle tug. Repeat. I could do this forever. I've dreamed of doing this forever.

Mary's squirming, pushing her breasts into my hands! My little head is doing a happy dance. Ever the careful observer Mary stares at my boxers with a smile. Guess she likes what she sees.

Reluctantly she stills my hands holding them against her breasts. "Stop it Doofus. You're in no shape to do anything." Her smile is sweet, tentative. Something I never imagined Mary could be. Her voice is soft, sultry. "But I can."

I feel my temperature rising, but she's right. I'm not able to give her full Marshal Mann loving. "Eh," I dismiss her proposition, appearing calm. The tactile memory of her fullness is imprinted on my hands. It's not fair to get her riled up when I can't follow through. I try for casual. "Being bombed kinda quashed my libido." It's not a total lie, although her proximity is making it perk up. I shouldn't but I can't help asking. "What did you have in mind?" I try to sound light hearted, casual but even to my ears I sound desperate and needy.

She gives me a slow lazy wink as she docks her lips to mine. The kiss is hot and hard, just the way parts of me are becoming. My little head is in definitely taking charge.

Her voice is husky, aroused and arousing. "Just lie back and let me do all the work. You game?"

"Mare!" I'm already breathing hard. "Don't you know everything you do turns me on? Even watching you fill out 302's." The early years of our partnership were especially 'hard.' It took years to become inured to her presence, to be able to repress my base response to her fiery beauty.

She guffaws, tossing her head back so her hair cascades around her. "Yeah, right."

She doesn't believe me. Mary never appreciated the impact she has on the males of our species. "I've spent years sublimating my desire for you. It's so damn frustrating. Now you're mine and I'm banged up and can't make love to you the way I want to."

"She chortles. "Oh Doofus, you haven't been banged up till you've been banged by me." Another searing kiss seals the deal. Her hand is hot as she rubs my all too eager 'repertoire.' "Besides, you already banged me up. It's your turn."

I break the kiss. "No fair Mare." I pout. "I'm in no shape to reciprocate."

Before her lips capture mine she murmurs "Don't say reciprocate."

Before my big head can protest, my boxers are gone. Her mouth is warm, hot, and so welcoming. I'm lost in a miasma of want, need, and ecstatic pleasure. It's over all too soon leaving me hot and sweaty. I open my eyes to my worst nightmare. Mary is gone. I panic until I hear the toilet flush and see her come out of the bathroom. She didn't run after all. Instead she wipes me gently then hands me clean Scooby Doo boxers.

Grabbing the spent pair she offers, "I'd better do laundry. Hmm. We better wash these sheets too." I'm still panting and speechless. She smiles indulgently, proud of her accomplishment. "If I had known this would shut you up I would've blown you years ago."

I find my voice at last and shake my finger at her. "You just wait Mare. Your turn will come."

Her smile is sweet, sexy and wistful. "It can't be too soon for me, Doofus."

Mary's timing is impeccable. She's dressed. The sheets are changed and the washer running when the garage door opens. Mom and Dad are back with my son.

"Daddy, Daddy, guess what I did today?" My son, my Marty can't wait to share his exploits.

I know I'm sporting what Mary calls my crocodile grin. Thanks to her treatment that's all I'm sporting.

"I can't imagine cowboy. You'll have to tell me." I pat the bed, encouraging him to sit. Before Norah and my folks appear he's gushed about the ducks in the park, going down the big slide all by himself and pushing Norah on the swings.

In the hall I can hear Mary cooing to Norah. Except for the bandages and not being able to reciprocate, I wish I could end every day like this.

* * *

A/N: Casimir Zeglen is credited with inventing the first bullet proof vest. Stephanie Kwolek working at Dupont created Kevlar. Ronnie Dalembert appears in three episodes. The one Marshall remembers is _Something Borrowed, Something Blew Up_ , Season 4 Episode 13.


	42. Seth has his Say

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann - Chapter 42 – Seth has his say

 _SETH POV_

 **WITSEC office next day**

The guard downstairs recognized me and waved me through to the elevator. I'm at the security gate of the WITSEC office where Marshall worked. And where he will work again if I have anything to say about it. Pretty fancy bullpen. They must have gotten a furniture upgrade since I was here. Stan comes to card me in.

"Good to see you Seth. Thanks for coming."

I shake his hand. "Wouldn't miss it." I assure him with a grim smile.

Three marshals poke their heads up, wondering who is being allowed into their sacrosanct burrow. I see recognition in the beefy body guard guy. Must be Dawson. The skinny kid is Charlie. He's too green to know who I am. The gal with the muffins has to be Delia. Good to have faces to go with the names.

Delia approaches me, her expression is solemn. "May I offer you a muffin Mr. Mann?" She sniffs back tears. "The banana nut ones were Marshall's favorite."

It's good to see Marshall has people, besides Mary and Stan, who care about him. I take the muffin and sympathy she offers. "Thank you. You must be Delia." I clear my throat. "Marshall spoke highly of you and your muffins." What would Marshall say? I take a bite, swallow and give her an almost smile. "Good thing his mom isn't here. She'd be bugging you for the recipe." She manages a tiny smile of her own.

"C'mon in." Stan ushers me to his office, Marshall's office. I sit in the visitor chair and think about how Marshall must look behind that desk. I look around Marshall's office. There's a picture of Mary and Norah on his desk, as well as Marty in his cowboy boots.

Stan returns with two mugs of coffee. He sets them on the edge of the desk. I take a sip. "Have you found your bomb maker?" The sooner I can get this done the sooner I can get back. Makes me uneasy to know there is someone targeting my family. If anything happened to those kids I'd hunt down the perps and make an FTF bust look like an ice cream social.

Stan grunts as he avoids Marshall's chair and instead sits next to me in the visitor spots. "Dominic Difazzio." Stan confirms. "He's at the FCI at Three Rivers."

"Texas. Yeah I've been there. It's over by the Choke Canyon Reservoir south of San Antonio." I pause, scratching my chin searching my memory. "Jeff Larson used to be the warden. Do you know if he's still there?"

"No" says Stan, "but I can give them a call, let them know to expect you."

After an hour with Stan and a dozen phone calls I've got a ride on a JPATS flight. I'll rent a car and drive to Three Rivers. "Might have to stay overnight," I tell Stan. "Who's protecting Mary, Beth, Joanna and the kids? They might be next."

"Mary's van is swept twice a day. Joanna's too. Your rental is being done now. I've got surveillance on both houses. They'll follow Joanna and the kids when they leave."

I know the way these things are done. He needs a team. "How many?"

"Six – two for each place, eight hour shifts. Cameras too. The security detail think Marshall is dead, and Mary has been targeted. The US Marshal and the DoJ want this bomber bad. I can bring in more marshals or agents if we need them."

"Good. That's good." I look Stan in the eye. "Marshall's pretty saavy. Won't he spot the cameras?"

"Of course he will." Stan admits. "I have no intention of keeping him out of the loop. He'll be given access to the feed. It will give him something to do while he's recuperating."

Stan must be used to running operations like this. Keeping the real mission secret while getting other agencies involved is more complicated than FTF. "Good. He's getting cabin fever." Should I bring Marshall's brothers into this? Clint keeps up with all kinds of techy gadgets. I hesitate to contact him. I could be putting his family in danger.

"Is there someplace I can make a phone call?" I've got some markers to call in to make sure my family is safe.

"Sure. Use my office. Make yourself at home." Stan leaves to give me some privacy, or to give himself plausible deniability? Works for me either way.

"Conran?" Unless all the rounds he's fired has made him deaf, he'll know who is calling.

 _Seth you old vulture. How's Beth? Have you gotten in her way now that you're retired? You need someplace to hide out while she cools down?"_

Conran always liked to run his mouth. "Beth is fine. I'm calling about one of my boys."

 _Which one is in trouble now?_

"Marshall." I tell him flatly. "His car was bombed."

 _Oh God, no. I am so sorry to hear that. How is he?_

"That's why I'm calling. I don't think these guys are done. I've got Beth covered but I need you to keep his partner safe."

 _Marshall's partner? You mean the hot blonde?_

"Yeah. Good thing Marshall isn't around to hear you say that."

 _Hmm. So they were more than partners? Thought he'd been promoted._

"He had." Strange to refer to Marshall in the past tense. Hard to remember that he's supposed to be dead when I saw him this morning. "His partner's still on the job, out on the streets. I want her protected. She's no dummy so for God's sake don't let her spot you. I'm not responsible for your broken bones if she does."

 _Still the spitfire, eh?_

"Now I know you're old and slow, so if you want to farm this job out to someone younger that you trust. . . ." Conran is used to my insults. Nothing motivates the man better.

 _You know me better than that. If you didn't think I could do it, you wouldn't call. When do I start?_

"As soon as you get to Albuquerque. If your 'skills' are still as good as you say, you can find her."

 _I'll be there by the time she leaves the office. That good enough?_

"Yeah, that'll work. Thanks buddy. Stay safe, and keep her safe."

* * *

Despite my early start, it's after noon by the time I'm on the ground. Dominic was Mary's witness, so she briefed me in last night. She didn't realize how bent and immature he was until he asked for her advice on dating. His entire experience with woman came from hookers. Not a great foundation for a relationship.

It's weird driving a sedan, it's so goddamn low. A far cry from my SUV, but this way I'm just another driver on the way out of San Antonio. I use the time to think about the best way to handle this dirt bag. Marshall, Mary and I discussed this last night. He's already in prison. There's no deal to leverage. How can I get him to give up what I need? I don't usually take advice, but this time I need to play the Marshall card not the marshal card.

Another hour gets me to Three Rivers FCI. There's a new warden, but he welcomes me personally and gives me the VIP treatment. Stan must have told him how many of his prisoners are there because of me. It didn't take long for the warden to arrange the interview room. Difazio shuffles in accompanied by two guards. He's a butterball of a man full of insecurity and anger. No bruises or cuts. He must be doing okay in here. The guards sits him in the single chair next to a metal table in the center of the room. Once the prisoners' handcuffs and leg shackles are locked down, the guard leaves and shuts the door.

I'm glaring at him from the other side of the room. It's easy to direct my disgust and anger at the murderer in front of me. "Dominic Difazio?" I bark.

"Who wants to know?" he lisps back defiantly. He has no idea why he's here, or who I am. I want to keep it that way. I want him off balance, uncertain. He should be worried that there's no recorder.

He looks like a pumpkin in his orange jumpsuit. I lean both hands on the table, snarling. "I'll ask the questions." I focus on his eyes, a stare down he can't win. I straighten up and walk away, shaking my head. "I'm probably wasting my time here. You're just a third class bomb maker." I talk to the wall as if he isn't important enough to hear what I have to say.

He bristles, as I expected. I turn and walk closer, studying his reaction.

"Who said that? I know explosives better than anyone on the outside!" He lifts his chin defiantly.

"Hmph." I examine him as if he's a bug. "So there's a better bomb maker inside? I should be talking to him." It would be good to know, but this is the guy I need.

"I was told anyone could make the simple bombs you made."

"Simple? I used kids RC toy as a trigger. That's not simple."

One more push to get what I need. "Bet you never made a detonator that only triggered the second or third time someone sat on it."

He washes one hand with the other, nervous, angry. "I know at least three ways to do that." He looks me in the eye, begging to show off what he knows. "I never used that kind of detonator because I couldn't control where it would go off. I only took out the target, no one else." He states the last proudly.

I curb my anger at his warped 'code,' and stalk closer. I reach into my shirt pocket and flip the schematic Marshall had created from the bomb squad report onto the table. "Bet you never saw one like this." His pudgy fingers scrabble to pick it up and unfold it. He studies it for a few minutes and then smiles.

"You're wrong. I have seen this before. It's not that hard. I only know of others who actually use it."

Bingo! "Friends of yours?" I keep my question casual, disinterested.

"No, no way." Even this worm appears disgusted by this indiscriminate use of his craft.

"Competitors?"

He shrugs. "Not really. One works for the mob in New York and the other one for a family operation in Kansas."

Family operation? Another word for gang. "Kansas?" He needs to think I need more proof.

"Kansas City," he proclaims to show me he knows his stuff.

"You expect me to believe that? Bet you don't even know their names. They're still free and you're in here. They must be better than you." Richie Cusato is in KC. I need that name.

He looks hurt. Nothing like the hurt Marshall is going through. "The Feds didn't catch me. No one caught me. I agreed to testify and I did. I don't lie."

"Yeah, so how well do you know these two?"

"We never met, but I know Mark Tuzzi works out of NYC and Frodo Fratos is in Kansas."

"Frodo?" There's zip chance this dirt bag has read Lord of the Rings.

"That's not his real name. They just call him that." He grimaces, unwilling to admit his ignorance to me. "I don't know why they call him that. I think his real name is Jerry."

I'm itching to leave and get those names checked out but I stay and question him about other bombings and devices. I hope he won't realize which piece of information I really wanted. It's what Marshall would do. I even commend him for testifying. I get out of there as fast as I can and call Marshall.

* * *

A/N: RL intrudes. Medical stuff. It may be a while before you read about Mary and Conran. Thanks for reading and following this story.


	43. Witness and Witless

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann - Chapter 43 – Witness and Witless

 _MARY POV_

It's hard to keep up the sad act at work. Stan's got it easy. He stays in Marshall's office looking grim, his usual expression. I have to straddle a fine line. As far as our coworkers know Marshall and I had been partners and _only_ partners for 9 years. I should be sad. Right? We don't need water cooler figuring out that we were/are more. Wonder how Abigail is handling it? I'll kick her ass if she so much as smiles.

Marshall. Sigh. Will I ever get to see him naked? All I have are disjointed memories of that night. The heart pounding high points are imprinted on my brain. Being the focus of this intense sweet hurting man was overwhelming. Even drunk he was a generous lover. Jeeze, second trimester horny is kicking in. Marshall, lying in bed, six pack on display surfaces whenever I close my eyes. When are we ever going to get a break?

Focus Mary. Do the job. The middle Grant kid thought he recognized one of his daddy's former business associates. They live out of town a ways. Not a lot of traffic so it's easy to spot the silver Camaro tailing me. I check the rear view mirror. Well maybe not. He's gone. Must have turned off at the last cross street. I'm always watching but because Marshall's bomber is still on the loose I'm hyper alert.

I don't think about the Camero till I'm done with the Grants and heading for the Sunshine building. I spot it as I hit traffic. I pull the mom-mobile into a grocery store parking lot and jot down the license plate. No sense leading someone to the WITSEC office. Besides I need to get groceries for the witness Stan assigned me. I slump down in my seat and watch. I sigh with relief when the silver Camaro zips past going the opposite direction. Being paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get me.

It doesn't take long to round up some juice, milk, bread and eggs for the new witness. I load them in the back of my van and take off. As I hit the speed bump in the parking lot I hear a swish followed by a klink. Crap! The orange juice better still be in the bottle. It might smell better than spit up. That humongous box of diapers should have kept the grocery bag upright. No sense stopping now. Just another block to Carol's new _pied a terre_. Oh my god. Marshall get out of my head! If it's not your body it's your mind!

Why in the hell did Stan give me a new witness now? I should be looking for Marshall's bomber! I exhale, disgusted, frustrated. I know I'm supposed to be acting as if he's dead, but does that mean WITSEC business as usual? Since most of the marshals think I'm an unfeeling brass balled bitch maybe it does.

At least this witness isn't whiny. She actually read all 300 pages of the MOU, asked a few questions, paid attention. Guess OB nurses aren't dummies. At least not this one.

Pulling into the parking lot of Carol's apartment I park the minivan around back and grab her groceries. No oj leaks thank god. Carol's only the second witness who asked for a decent kitchen. Mia was such a good cook. Wonder if I'll get to taste Carol's cooking? I'm barely in my second trimester but my stomach reminds me that I'm eating for two.

"Hey Carol." I stand at her front door. She uses the peep hole. Good girl. I smile and hold up the bag. Carol opens the door wearing yoga pants and a tank top. The blinds are drawn and the cool of her apartment is a relief. These days I have my own built in heater.

When I lift the grocery bag onto the kitchen counter I see Carol's eyebrows rise. I look down and see my tank top has ridden up exposing the waistband extender on my jeans. I'm not ready to give in to maternity pants when I need less than an inch. After Norah I got rid of my maternity gear. Never in a zillion years did I think I'd need them.

I ignore her look. "Uh here's a map of the neighborhood. You can explore the rest of the city on your phone. I've highlighted the grocery stores, and the car dealers." She doesn't take the map, so I drop it on the counter.

"How far along are you?" She sounds curious, concerned, even. I think of it as being nosy.

She's not going to ignore what she saw. I avoid her and look at the counter. "You know I can't talk about my personal life."

She smirks and dips her head. "You don't have to say anything, your belly has spoken."

"I guess you **would** know all about these things."

"After ten years of working with pregnant women ... ."

"You can spot one a mile away?" I finish for her.

She gives me a soft appraising look. "Pretty much, yeah."

Carol steps close and reaches for my arm. I glare and she backs off. "Look Mary, I know you think it's none of my business, but you are doing so much to help me, I want to help you. Besides my safety depends on you." She pauses, rationalizing for my benefit. "I want to make sure you're in good shape so that I'm in good shape."

I nod. That makes sense. "Don't worry. The Marshal Service has your safety as their priority. When I get too big to fit behind the wheel you'll be assigned another marshal. You can still call me. I can still help. First we'll get you set up with a car and a job and then it's just a matter of keeping your head down till you testify. No one who has followed the rules laid out in your MOU has ever been harmed."

She gives me a brave smile. "Thanks Mary. And just so you know I'm not trying to intrude. I just want you to know that you" she focuses on my stomach "you can call me. It will make me feel better to have at least one pregnant patient."

I press my lips together. Pregnant yes, patient?- not so much. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." I can't imagine actually talking to her about this pregnancy. Not when I have pregerMarshallpedia. Do I really need a know it all nagging OB nurse?

She looks into the grocery bag on the counter. "Thanks for these. Oh!" She fans the handful of takeout menus. "That's quite a selection. I had no idea Albuquerque had such a variety of restaurants. Can we deal with the car and job applications tomorrow? I'm tired."

"Umm, yeah. We can do that." I agree. "Got your phone?" She grabs her phone from the table. "Who's #1 on your speed dial?"

"You are Mary. If I see anything or anyone suspicious I will call you immediately, night or day."

"That's right. I'll see you in the morning." Finally I make my escape. I wait till I hear the deadbolt click. Jeeze. Another person with pregnant radar. Does the whole world know Mary Shannon is pregnant, again?

Climbing in the van I put my head on the steering wheel. I need a nap. And lunch, definitely lunch. My stomach rumbles in agreement. Should I go to Marshall's? His Mom usually cooks. It would be normal, usual, to check on my partner's parents. Right? See how the funeral arrangements are going?

The possibility of a home cooked meal is too good to pass up. So good I realize I've haven't passed it up ever since we sprung Doofus from the hospital. Heading for my partner's home I note a small dark colored Honda again. WTF? I make a quick right turn, away from Marshall's place. First the silver Camero now this hunk of junk? Does everyone want to follow this minivan?

I take my tail on a tour of the city pulling into a parking structure. It's difficult but not impossible to hide a minivan. I corkscrew to the top floor. There's a concrete block cube housing the stairwell, few cars and no civilians. It doesn't take long for the Honda to appear. I'm waiting gun drawn pointing at the driver yelling "STOP, United States Marshall." The driver is a young guy with long dark hair. He slams on the brakes and nearly knocks himself out on the steering wheel. It's a wonder the air bag didn't go off.

"Turn it off, put your hands up and exit the vehicle. Slowly," I bellow. He's barely out of the car when I hear the squeal of tires on the ramp. I put the little shit in an elbow lock and pull him behind the cement block structure. He whimpers when I handcuff him keeping one eye on the ramp. A cursory pat down doesn't turn up any weapons. I shove him against the wall. "Why are you following me? Is that your back up?" I can't watch him and our latest visitor, so I push him in front of me. He's too slight to be an effective shield, but it's better than nothing. No engine sounds. WTF. I scan the area.

"Need a hand?" I can't help it, I Mary Shannon of the rock steady nerves and unflappable demeanor jump. How in the hell did he get behind me? I swivel my stalker around and face a tall older man with close cropped gray hair. He's holding both hands up in the universal sign of surrender. Despite that I know he has a weapon somewhere. That kind always does.

"Who the hell are you?" I hate surprises, especially this kind of surprise.

He smiles lazily. I check my handcuffed stalker. He's nervous but he doesn't recognize the guy.

Mr. Gray Hair leans back against the cement block wall, puts his hands down and smiles, friendly like. "I'm a friend of Seth's."

Now that gives me pause. I narrow my eyes.

"That's damn convenient. Prove it." Just because he knows Seth's name doesn't mean he can be trusted.

"Let's see. There's Seth who is married to Beth. They have three sons, Grady, Travis and Marshall. Marshall is the youngest."

"Yeah so you can google. What else?" I realize I've put him in a bind. He doesn't want to reveal details of the Mann's lives in front of my stalker.

"Beth doesn't seem like the type but she's a member of the Texas Yarn Bombers." Okay. That I can believe. Marshall has told me about Beth's yarn projects.

"You know this douche?" I nod toward my stalker.

He shakes his head. "Never saw him before in my life." He looks around, the careful gaze of someone used to doing surveillance, taking in every detail. "Should we be discussing this here?"

"Probably not." With my gun still drawn I use it to point at my boy band wannabe stalker. Trying a slightly different tack with Mr. Gray Hair. "Do you know who he is?" Years of dealing with Marshall have taught me to choose my words carefully.

"Maybe."

I give him my thousand centigrade glare and he asks the stalker, "What's your name?"

The stalker tries to shake my hold. I squeeze his elbow harder and he squeaks. "Me? I don't need to be part of this. Just uncuff me and I'll be on my way."

My shout of "Hell no" is echoed by the gray haired stranger's "No way."

I raise my head to the stranger and point my gun at him. "Tell me what you know."

He scrubs his mouth with his hand, eyes closed, thinking. Guns don't intimidate him. "He's from Kansas, probably connected to the Cusatos."

The perps eyes open wide. He's nervous. Mr. Gray Hair seems to be on target. I grab the perp by the neck using my gun for emphasis. "Are you here to kill me?"

"What? No!" He squirms. "I'm looking for Robin."

Good thing Robin is already gone. "Then why are you following me?"

"I saw you with Mia, at home, before she died. Robin talked about you. I was following Robin when two guys in suits took her. I was behind them till my car broke down. By the time I got my wheels back the trail had gone cold. Albuquerque was the only major city on the route so I took a chance. When I saw you I figured you were my best bet."

His story seems plausible. He doesn't strike me as a cold blooded killer. "Who sent you to kill her?"

"Nobody!" I pull his collar tight and shake him. "I mean I don't want to kill her. She's going to make her family accountable for all the deaths and bad things they've done. It's about time someone did."

"What do you know about the Cusato's operation?" Am I going to compromise anything by talking in front of Mr. Gray Hair?

He gulps and I let up on his collar a little. "I was a messenger between Richie and his guys. When there was a job to pull or someone to whack he'd tell me to find the guy to do it."

I smirk. There's something else. "And did you ever give the guys your own orders? Did you tell them it was from Richie when it wasn't?"

"Uh yeah. Once. Just before Robin left. Richie would whack guys, even families for the slightest insult. He's a monster and the sooner he's behind bars or dead the better off the world will be."

I look to Mr. Gray Hair to see if he's buying it. He shrugs. "Take him in. Check his story. That's what I would do."

"Oh you would would you?" I shove the stalker to Mr. Gray Hair. "Keep an eye on this douche bag." I keep both of them in view while getting out my phone.

"Hey Stan, is Seth with you?" Damn Seth is still in Texas. "Uh yeah. I got a situation here. Yeah, back up would be good."

Stan knows my understatement is an urgent request. He asks where I am and tells me to stay put. He's coming himself. That's good. I trust him more than anyone else currently in the office. Over the years I've seen Stan's tough persona once or twice. It's always off putting, so unlike his usual behavior. I smile remembering how he squirmed when I kissed him on his bald head the last time he did me a major favor.

We wait. I feel the sweat running between my breasts. The air is cool but the sun is hot. The shade from the stairwell drops the temperature only degree or two. Mr. Gray Hair is calm, unruffled. His eyes are mere slits, his hands heading for his pants pockets. "Uh uh. Keep your hands where I can see them." He brings them back out. Before too long there's the squeal of tires on concrete. I breathe a sigh of relief when I recognize Stan's car.

Stan is sweating too but god forbid he take off his jacket. "What have we got here Ins..." He coughs not wanting to give away my title. "Who is this?" He nods to my stalker.

"This," I push the dark haired boy toward Stan, keeping Mr. Gray Hair in my sights. "This piece of trash has been following me. Seems he's connected to the Cusato gang."

Stalker doesn't object. Instead he whines, "I just want to find Robin." Stan questions me with a look. I shrug. Stan glances at Mr. Gray Hair but focuses on my stalker.

"You got a name?" Stan asks.

"Jimmy Johnston."

"From?"

"Kansas."

"How do you know Robin?" Ah yes. That's the $64,000 question.

"We uh, we went to school together. I've known her since grade school."

"We'll check that out." Stan assures him.

I'm still holding Mr. Gray Hair at gunpoint when it hits me. "You're JJ?"

The young man's long dark hair falls in his eyes. "Yeah. But nobody calls me that."

"Nobody except . . . " I prompt him. During Robins transport she wanted to talk about everyone back home. I don't usually listen to witness chatter but I missed Marshall's never ending drone of trivia. She had mentioned JJ several times.

"Robin. Robin has called me JJ since grade school."

"C'mon Mr. Johnston, you're with me." Stan secures Johnston in his car handcuffs and all. I was so caught up with JJ and his connection to Robin I almost forgot Mr. Gray Hair. I'm shaken out of my reverie when he says "I'll meet you at your office Stan."

WTF. I never mentioned Stan's name. Checking to make sure his prisoner is secure, Stan heads toward the tall man, hand extended and gives him a two handed shake. He's smiling. It's weird to see Stan smile. "Connie you old dog. I guess I know what, or should I say who brings you here."

Really? Why is he here? Who in the hell is he? My stomach growls loud enough for all to hear.

Stan turns to me. I'm sweaty and hungry and frustrated. "Mary" he says kindly. "Go get something to eat. You need to. . . You know. I'll take care of everything."

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Major surgery put me on hiatus. Thanks to Jojo78 for the quick read through. More to come.


	44. Four Marshals and a Funeral

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 44 – Four Marshals and a Funeral

 _Marshall POV_

I only have two things to look forward to each day. Lunch with Mary who loves Mom's cooking and the kids visit after their naps. There is one more daily event - the mailman. I hear Mom get the mail but when she comes into my room she's holding one envelope with kitchen tongs. Kitchen tongs?

"What have you got there?"

"I'm not sure. It's addressed to Mr. Miller and there's no name on the return and there's no street address for the return." She holds the envelope in front of me.

I tilt my head to the right and left and relax when I recognize the PO Box. "It's okay Mom." I take the envelope and open it.

"What is it?" I've kept Mom waiting while I read the letter.

"The DNA results for Martin and me."

"Well?"

I sit up in bed to read it aloud. "Marshall Miller is not excluded as the biological father of Martin Collins. This means that Marshall Miller is considered to be the father of Martin Collins because the analysis shows they share a paternity relationship."

Mom gently hugs me. "Oh sweetie. I know he is your son but it can't hurt to have proof." Hmm, she doesn't question that the name on the letter is Miller. Just how much does Mom know about what Mary and I do?

I lie back. "I never had any doubts. I did this for Abigail" I sniff. "Not that she'll ever get to see it. Mom? There's a file folder with Martin's name on my desk. Please put this with it." She's been in full mama bear mode so there was no way she'd let me out of bed to file it.

"Of course dear." Mom scurries off. I'm so grateful for Martin, so thankful that Dana reached out to me when she did. I'm sure she had no idea things would turn out this way, but I'm glad. I have a son, my Mary and sweet Norah. Except for the damn bomb my life is better than I ever imagined.

Just that one little fly in the ointment - someone is trying to kill me - or Mary. I've listed everyone I've pissed off – besides Mary - anyone who wants me dead. Were there fugitives who swore to kill Dad? Not according to Dad. The busts were fast and furious, no time for introductions. Still someone wants revenge. I roll my eyes imagining the endless list of people Mary has pissed off. Just one more reason I don't want her searching for the bomber. The thought of her out there without me hurts worse than the lacerations.

I never had such an immediate strong reaction to anyone as I did Mary. Aggravation turned swiftly to attraction, and more. I hung onto my dream of us for years but finally decided she would never love me when Abigail appeared. I was sure I'd finally found someone to love me, to be my future, to have my children - then Mary Shannon discovered that she did love me. How messed up is that? She proved it when she 'released ' me to be happy with Abigail.

Snort! Look how that turned out. How could I pretend to know Abigail after less than a year? I spent ten years getting to know Mary. Despite her feigned indifference, Mary knows me, and cares more than she'd ever admit. Till now. Does she want to be with me because she's pregnant with my child? How in the hell did that happen? I still suspect it was pity fuck. Once the baby is born will she still want to be with me? She said she'd marry me but we haven't talked about it. Did she get the results from the regional office written test? I haven't even seen her baby bump!

Is Mary ready for me, for us? For us to be parents? I knew she would be a good mom. Marty loves her. Marty and Norah act like siblings already. Mom and Dad are happy for us. Mary is worried they might come to their senses and realize she's not good enough for 'their' Marshall. I can't believe she thinks that.

I miss the kids. I read them stories every night but I want to swing them on the swings and slide down the slide with them in my lap. I want to toss Norah in the air and make her giggle, wrestle with Marty and play with his trains.

"Marshall?" I wipe tears of frustration from my cheeks. The bed dips as Mom sits halting my pity party. "Let's change your bandages." I take off my shirt and hike up my pajama pants. She cleans the cuts on my chest and legs and applies ointment and bandages. She pulls my shirt down careful of the bandages and gauze. "How are you feeling?"

I hate to whine, but I hate lying around being useless even more. "I'm tired of doing nothing!"

"You're healing Marshall. That's something. Something you need proper rest to do." She touches my shoulder gently. "These are looking good. You can probably get out of bed without pulling the stitches out." Mom's trying to cheer me up. "How about eating lunch in your own kitchen?"

"That would be great, Mom." Anything besides these four walls! I push myself to the edge of the bed and stand, waiting to stabilize before trying to walk. "Is Mary here?"

Mom is by my side, ready to be my crutch. "No." This is past Mary's usual lunchtime. It's not like her. We make our way down the hall. "You were sleeping so soundly I decided you needed the rest." She ducks into the kitchen leaving me hanging onto the wall. The kitchen is dim with the drapes and blinds closed. I get to the table by myself-today's great milestone! Mom's tomato soup and grilled cheese conjure memories of childhood lunches. Where is Mary? Is she hurt? Did **_they_** find her?

My anguished look at the empty chair has Mom grabbing her phone. "Eat. I'll call her." It's frustrating to not even be able to make a phone call!

I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I heard Mary answer. Mom bats my hand away when I try to take the phone. "She's on her way." Mom smiles indulgently her eyes twinkling. "She said you can start without her."

I heard what Mary said and that was not it. She said that if I didn't leave enough for her there'd be hell to pay since I'm the reason she's eating for two. That's my girl!

I've barely finished the soup when hurricane Mary blows in. She gives Mom a quick hug, throws her jacket on the back of a chair and sits as Mom puts a bowl in front of her. "Relax" Mom pats Mary's shoulder lightly. "Take your time. There's plenty."

"Mare?"

"Hmm?" she manages around a spoonful.

She looks flushed. This is more than the glow of pregnancy. What has she been up to this morning? "Have you taken your blood pressure today?"

She sets the spoon down and narrows her eyes, annoyed. "No Marshall." She puts both hands on the table. "I haven't taken my blood pressure. Stanley gave me a new witness. I got her a place and groceries. I caught the stalker following me. Skinny weasel has ties to the Cusatos. And if that wasn't enough, a gray haired mercenary followed me and helped take the stalker down. So no, I didn't take my blood pressure." She turns her attention back to the soup.

WTF. I glare at her. "No wonder you're glowing like a hot house tomato." Of course apturing a suspect with or without help raised her blood pressure! "You're not leaving till we take your blood pressure." I mean it, and she knows it.

She rolls her eyes and mutters something about my medical equipment fetish – something milder than her usual retorts. Even Mary behaves around Mom. I've finished eating and wait while Mary devours her grilled cheese. When she is wiping her mouth with her napkin I strike. "Who is the Cusato gang member?"

She sighs, her hands clasped over her stomach, eyes closed, her head tilted back, the picture of satiation. She ignores me focusing all her energy on digestion. "Mare? The Cusatos?"

"Uh yeah." Her head comes down and her eyes lock with mine. She gives me a brief and I'm sure sanitized version of events. Still she's unharmed and Stan has JJ in custody. Why in the hell didn't Robin's marshals notice they were being followed? Piss poor transport protocol. According to Mary JJ is in love with Robin but Robin was promised to another - some up and comer in her father's gang. Robin went along with it until Mia died. Mary stops talking and looks around the kitchen. Bet she's looking for something sweet. Ever since she became pregnant desserts call her name. I call her on her other bit of news.

"So, Mare, a mercenary?" My Mary, the trouble magnet.

Mary takes a swig of milk. Mom saw her checking out the kitchen and sets two chocolate chip cookies in front of her. Mary gives Mom a grateful smile. "Sure looked like one to me," she says around half a cookie. "Kinda old to be in that business, but if he's survived this long he must have something going for him. Says his name is Conran." She leans forward, tapping the table for emphasis. "And get this, Stan knows him and the guy claims to know your family."

Mom turns from the sink. "Connie? Connie's in Albuquerque?" Mom wipes her hands on her apron and opens the fridge. "Better get more burgers ready. If he's in town he'll be stopping by."

"Mom? Who is he?" Mary and I are all ears.

Mom sits down and sighs. "I guess there's no harm in telling you. Your father and Connie were partners. Connie left the Marshal Service but he kept in touch. He'd send us Christmas cards and visit once in a while. I never asked but I thought he worked for the CIA or did something hush hush." Mom gives Mary a penetrating look. "As the wife of a US Marshal I know not to ask too many questions."

"When was the last time you heard from him?" I'm not sure I remember this guy. Maybe my brain is still scrambled from the bombing.

Mom tilts her head thinking. "He stopped by after your Dad retired. He seemed to be in a hurry because he didn't stay for dinner. I think he retired too."

Walking to the kitchen and sitting up has worn me out. I struggle to stand and Mary is at my side before Mom can move. With her arm around my waist we shuffle our way back to my room. I lie down and scoot over, patting the bed, inviting her to join me. "Get the sphygmomanometer please. It's in the bathroom under the sink."

"What in the hell is a spig-meter?" I give her a knowing look and point to the bathroom. I know she knows what it is. She returns with the machine and sits on the bed, wrapping the cuff around her upper arm. I move the sensor in the cuff in position.

"Now, extend your arm and rest it on the night stand. Feet flat on the floor. Relax." When she complies I push the start button. Less than a minute later we have the results. "152 over 89."

"Which means?"

"Your blood pressure is on the high side. Optimum is 120 over 80. Do you have any idea what it was before you got pregnant?" I know Mary's blood pressure was a concern when she was carrying Norah. I think the stress of the shoot out with Ronnie's would be killers coupled with high blood pressure caused her premature labor.

She undoes the cuff and stows the machine. She stands, cocks her head thinking. "It would be on my medical records from Denver."

She's right. We'll have to check that out. I've got to get her to rest. She was yawning during lunch. "Stay. Stan won't mind. Just let him know where you are." Mary checks in with Stan, yawns and takes off her boots. I glare at her when she puts her Glock under her pillow. "Safety's on Doofus. Better safe than sorry." She's got a point. I urge her closer. Mary's warmth and my full stomach make sleep irresistible.

I open my eyes and check the clock. I can't believe Mary's been curled up next to me for three hours. Her hands are near my chest. Her hair is under my nose. Her breathing changes and she snuggles closer pushing on a deep cut. "Yow!" Mary jerks back awake, anxious. "Marshall? Did I hurt you?"

We're both awake now. Mary checks to make sure I'm not bleeding. Her unhealthy flush is gone leaving only the glow of motherhood. Her eyes are half closed, sleepy. I expect pillow talk. Instead Mary gets down to business. "How long can we delay your funeral?" Of all the things we need to talk about she wants to talk about my funeral?

"What?"

"You heard me." She sits on the edge of the bed putting on her boots. "Your funeral. You've been 'dead' almost a week. Shouldn't you be buried already?"

"It hasn't been a week. And no, it's not unusual to take a week or even longer to plan a memorial service." I sit next to her and nudge her shoulder. "Trying to get rid of me Mare?"

"No, I'm trying to get you back in the land of the living," her expression softens as she holsters her Glock, "and loving." Good to know she's as frustrated as I am.

"What's the fascination with my funeral?" She's pacing, getting her thoughts in order.

"Are we sure you were the target? It could have been me. Mia's family saw me. Robin met me. It would make sense for them to go after me when Robin disappeared. We need to draw them out. Where could they count on finding me? At your funeral!"

She thinks she's so smart. Setting herself up as bait! Not on my watch Sunshine. I shake my finger at her. "You promised you would not put our child in danger. I'm holding you to that." I scoot to the edge of the bed so I can stand.

Mary rolls her eyes. "Sit down, Doofus. I won't be in danger and neither will the bean. Stan already has a maternity vest for me, and I'll be surrounded by marshals and your family."

I stand facing her and shout trying to get through her thick head. "A vest won't stop a head shot." My chest hurts when I inhale. "No, no, no!"

"She's right you know." I hear a clatter from the kitchen and look up to see a tall grey haired man standing in my bedroom doorway. I'm really off my game. I didn't hear him enter the house. If he is a spook he's good. How did he get past the surveillance Stan set up?

Mary's eyes narrow and her hand moves to her gun. "You said you were going with Stan."

Wait! This is the _mercenary_ who helped Mary bring in JJ? The guy who knows Stan and Dad? WTF? He leans against the doorway and studies his nails. "I did. Stan kicked me out."

"Marshall, Mary what are you two going on about?" Mom is wiping her hands on her apron. "Connie! When did you get here?"

'Connie' bear hugs mom lifting her feet off the floor. "You think I could stay away when I know you're in town Beth?"

Mom blushes and pushes herself out of his embrace. "You old fox. You're just trying to sweet talk your way into a dinner invitation!"

He grins and shakes his head. "Just the truth Beth. Just the truth. But I have to admit, I was hoping to taste your cooking again."

Mom turns to Mary and I. "Marshall, Mary, I'd like you to meet Conran Dornan."

Conran comes into the room and shakes my hand. He nods at Mary and winks. "We've already met."

"You **are** staying for dinner," Mom commands. "I already made extra. I remember how much you can put away."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world Beth."

"Good I need someone to man the grill, and since Marshall can't go outside, you're elected." Conran nods in agreement.

"Now," Mom takes charge. "What were you arguing about before this old fox snuck in on us?"

"Finding the bomber." Mary's always to the point.

Conran gives me an up and down look. "You were bombed Marshall? You look pretty good. Damn you Manns are indestructible. How can you be up and around already?"

I shrug dismissing his comments. "Mostly luck. My injuries are superficial and mostly anterior."

Mary glares at me. "On my front Sunshine. Good thing too. I can sleep on my back."

Mary gets out her phone and shows him a photo of what was left of my truck. Conran whistles. "You _were_ lucky."

"Yes," Mary agrees. "But he won't stay lucky if we don't find who did it."

Three of us are on alert when we hear the front door open. "Beth?"

Mom leans back into the hallway. "Back here Seth. We've got company."

Dad doesn't look at all surprised. Was he expecting Conran? Dad smiles and shakes Conran's hand enthusiastically. "I see you found the place." Answers that question.

"That's not all he found." Mary squints and accuses. "He was following me."

Dad lowers his head. "Yeah, about that. I asked Connie to keep an eye on you while I was in Texas." Mary's glare softens as Dad continues. "Until we know what and who we're up against we need all the eyes we can trust on this." Dad returns her glare, determined.

Conran interjects. "There's more to the story Seth, but it can wait till after dinner."

Mom gives Dad a kiss. "Dinner will be ready in an hour. Seth, you and Connie take the grill. There's beer in the fridge with the burgers." Despite my protests Mom asks them to give me a hand getting to the living room. I wave them off. Mary watches as I stand and steady myself. Conran and Dad flank me as we make our way to the couch. Once everyone settles, Mary gets the files and plugs in the laptop so we can keep an eye on the facial recognition program.

Mom pops out from the kitchen. "Stan called. He's tied up at work. He'll stop if he can wrap things up before it's too late. Joanna and the kids will be here for dinner."

Mary repeats her morning counters for Dad assuring us she was never in danger. Dad gives the too thin file on my bombing to Conran and gives us the two names he got from Difazzio. Dominic isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. Conran will ask his sources. It's a start. Stan has the missing pieces - whatever Charlie tulrned up and what JJ had to say. I'm ready for dinner when Joanna and the kids arrive. Mary closes the laptop when the kids climb on the couch for hugs.

Dad introduces Conran to Joanna. Mary picks up Norah, and assures her the stranger is okay. Conran squats down and offers Marty his hand. "Hi Marty, I'm a friend of your Grandpas." Marty blinks, looks at me. When I nod that it's okay he puts his little hand in Conrans. "Hi." He looks around and spots Beth and promptly heads for the kitchen and climbs into his usual chair. "You must be hungry little man." Mom tousles his hair. "Have you washed your hands?" Marty looks chagrined, and shakes his head. Mary has Norah on her hip. "C'mon Marty, let's get those hands clean." When they return Marty and Norah stare at Conran until food appears on their plates. Dinner is devoured appreciatively. Dad and Conran insist on cleaning up. Will I be able to find anything in my kitchen?

Mom helps Mary with baths and soon it's time for stories and bed. "Daaddee." Marty is holding three books. Norah claps her hands, "Da da da." My heart melts. Mary's smile is watery and her eyes are shiny, wet. I'm ready to lie down so we head to my bed. Mary deposits Norah on one side and Marty settles carefully on the other. Mare sits near my feet. All too soon the books are read and two drowsy kids are kissing us goodnight. Dad carries them out to the car for the ride to Mary's. Joanna will be staying at Mary's too. Fewer locations to secure. I'm missing the kids already. Dad comes back in the house with Stan who assures me he thoroughly checked out the guys guarding the kids. I wish I could be sure they will be safe.

We spread out all the documents and surveillance photos. Conran and Mary think the quickest way to identify and eliminate the threat is to use my funeral to draw them out. I disagree and Mom thinks it's too dangerous.

"Marshall's funeral should be soon. Hasn't it been too long since he died?" Mary's only planned one funeral, her fathers, and now she's an expert?

"Well it's been less than a week. It's not unusual for a service to be held two or even three weeks after." Mom has been to many funerals. "We need to get a cemetery plot, funeral service and place a obituary in the local paper."

Stan grins too. "You get to write your own obit. Not many people can do that!"

"Whoa whoa. We can't publish my death. What about my witnesses?" It's bad enough letting the office think I'm dead.

"Of course you can. If you want to stay alive you need to stay dead." Conran adds his two cents. "It makes perfect sense. We'll use your cover name, the one the witnesses already know. We just need a picture of you that doesn't quite look like you."

"But if the witnesses come to the funeral they'll be exposed too." I object. Mary's really on board the crazy train too? "Besides exactly how are you going to make me not look like me?" I don't like this.

Mary and Mom share a conspiratorial look. "Give me your comb. Sit back."

I lean back and Mary parts my hair. Mom gets the mousse. It doesn't take long before Mary steps back admiring her work. Mom nods in agreement. Dad, Stan and Conran look bemused.

"Now what?"

"Smile." Mary wants me to smile?

"What?"

"I said smile. The fake grin you use with frustrating witnesses." Oh, that one. I thought of my least favorite witness and smiled.

"That's it! Now cross your eyes a little." Mary gets her phone ready. "Too much, Doofus. You look like a retard. Relax your eyes and squint." The camera shutter clicks three times. "I think that does it."

Mom and I inspect the photos. Sure enough it is me, but doesn't look like me. My hair looks shorter. My eyes seemed smaller and my nose bigger. It's like a bad passport photo. If I ever look like that it's definitely time to go home. It could work.

Stan coughs. "You know, just because we're using the funeral to draw the bomber to Mary doesn't mean Mary has to be there."

Mary jerks her head back. "Of course I'm going to be there. Wait. Do you mean a decoy?"

"Right, body double." he continues. "Someone the right height, a black outfit, blonde wig – sunglasses. That should do it." Stan must have someone in mind.

I sigh in relief. I like this idea a bit better. "That could work. They can wear body armor and if they wear a hat we could even fit a helmet under the wig."

Stan claps his hands and rubs them together. "All right. Let's get this show on the road."

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Hope this longer chapter was worth the wait. Reviews? Love to hear what you think.


	45. Dead and Buried

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

* * *

Sonn of Mann – Chapter 45 – Dead and Buried

 _MARSHALL POV_

Being dead has some advantages. I'm not involved in planning my funeral although I do have a morbid interest in my obituary, epitaph and eulogy. JJ thinks the Cusatos ordered the bombing and Mary is the target. The AUSA has the FBI tracking down leads. Stan brought me Charlie's search results printed out so there was no electronic trail. Charlie tracked the Cusato's financials and phone records to some interesting places – like the Marshal's office in DC. Maybe Allison Pierson's visit wasn't routine. Digging into that will keep me busy.

Stan and Mom found a funeral home willing to play ball – closed casket, no additional services. The death notice appeared once, midweek in the Albuquerque Journal. I thought the Alibi Weekly more appropriate, but was overruled. There's a chance one of my witnesses might see it, but they had been turned over to other Inspectors months ago. That small blurry black and white photo published with the obit doesn't look much like me. I never parted my hair down the middle! Wait till my brothers see it.

Oh God, my brothers!

"Mom!" All but the two deep lacerations on my shoulder have healed. I barely limp to Mom's temporary office. The kitchen table is full of funeral home and cemetery brochures. "Mom – do Clint and Grady know? Have they heard about the bombing?"

I'm panting with anxiety not exertion but Mom looks worried. "Marshall, sit down." It's bad enough I am subjecting the WITSEC staff to fake grief. I hate for my brothers and their families go through it too. Mom sits next to me and takes my hand in both of hers. "Dad took care of it honey. He had people he trusts tell your brothers you're alive. They aren't going to tell their kids anything. Clint is coming to the service – to see 'what kind of mess' his little brother has gotten himself into." She shakes her head sadly. "Grady can't make it." That's good. A total Mann family reunion would make a tempting target.

Who else thinks I'm dead? Jinx left town before the bombing. I've never seen her read the paper. Her students and their mothers decided to extend their stay in Ft. Worth. After the dance competition the group is taking a mini vacation as a reward for all their hard work. I'd better be alive by the time she returns. Has Brandi seen the news of the bombing? Would this bring her out of hiding?

The next afternoon I'm sitting in the kitchen when the doorbell rings. "You expecting someone Mom?" She hustles to the front door and returns with two large boxes.

"Careful Mom. I wasn't expecting any packages." Did the bomber change tactics? Are these bombs too?

"It's okay son. I ordered these." Even though my couch is long, the two boxes take the entire length. Mom gets a letter opener and slices through the packing tape. The box opens like a trunk revealing packing material and something dark. "Get over here."

Oookay.

I'm standing, arms out as she guides one arm through the fabric, then turns to get the other arm. "This" she announces proudly, "is the best bulletproof, slash proof, stab proof armor money can buy."

"Mom?" I know almost losing me was traumatic, but I didn't expect this.

The vest is longer than the Marshal Service vest. The collar comes up higher, small protective plates are on both sides, and the shoulder sections come down to my elbows. I move my arms assuring I have the necessary mobility. How did they do that? Mom smooths the material over my shoulders, patting the plates in place. I see something else in the box.

I hold it gingerly by one end. "What's this?"

Mom mutters into my chest adjusting the vest. "I consider it grandkid insurance." I examine the long curved half tube. It looks like, oh my God it is – an armored cod piece! My ears feel hot. I'm sure they are bright pink. "Since you insist on going to the grave site, your Dad and I are doing what we can to make sure you return from the grave."

I've barely recovered when I realize there's another box. "Two boxes?" Bulletproof leggings?

Mom is still checking the fit. "That one is for Mary. You don't think we'd leave her unprotected, do you?"

I hadn't realized it was so late. The front door opens and I'm still wearing the body armor and holding the cod piece.

"Hello Mary," Mom greets her with a hug. "That box is for you. Please open it so we can check the fit." Mary looks bewildered. "Go, go." Mom encourages her. "I'll get dinner started." Mom abandons me, holding the incriminating tube _thing_. Mary's going to want an explanation.

Mary stands back and looks me up and down, ignoring what's in my hand. "Umm um um. Now that's what I call stylin'. Nothing gets me hotter than a man in body armor, and this" she runs her hands over my chest, "is the best I've seen" Her smile is dreamy and in other circumstances I'd enjoy her attention. But she's close. Too close. She finally notices what I'm holding. My pink face is enough to clue her in. She tries to pry it from my fingers. Despite my best efforts she jerks it away.

"What do we have here?" She turns it one way and then another. Laconically she asks, "Now where does this go?" She finds that the tabs at the wider end go into slots near the bottom of the vest. She lines them up right over my zipper.

"Mare" I hiss mortally embarrassed. Mom is in the kitchen but all she had to do was turn around to see Mary fondling me.

She smirks. "Can't help myself. Nothing says sexy like a man in body armor with a biiig gun." She pats codpiece.

I smack her hand away. "Behave!"

"Now where's the fun in that?" She puts her arms around my waist. "Seriously I wish you had been wearing this when you were bombed." She runs her hands over the articulated shoulder. "You wouldn't have cuts that deep."

"Try yours on Mary," Mom calls from the kitchen.

Mary holds up the embarrassing tube. "I get one of these too?" I grunt and grab it away from her. Mary opens the box and her eyes light up when she removes the packing. She looks like a kid who'd just gotten the best Christmas present ever. Bet she'd wear this to our wedding if she could.

"Try it on. Let's see how it fits." I can't wait to make sure her chest protection fits properly! She slips her arms into the vest. Adjusting the fit is the perfect excuse to run my hands under the vest. I had read about it and knew it was designed for a woman. I show her the extra panel that expands to make it wider. Then I pull down the flap that makes it longer and press my fingers against her jeans so she feels exactly where it ends. She moans and mutters. I give up the pretense of checking her vest and kiss her. She pulls me closer and we lose ourselves in the moment for several moments. Mom clears her throat and we reluctantly separate. Mary steps toward Mom to give her a good look at her body armor. "Thanks for the vest, Beth. It fits great. Don't take this the wrong way but I hope I never have to use it."

"You're using it when we bury Marshall." Mary's head jerks back, stunned by the fake reality of my death. Mom gives her a knowing look. "You're going to be there. And you will both be wearing this _and_ your regular vests _and_ helmets. Got that?"

Mary hangs her head and I smirk. "Yes Mom," we both answer.

Mom gives us the evil eye. "I'll be checking both of you before I let you leave."

Mary and I barely suppress an eye roll. "Thanks Mom."

Just because she knows it will make me squirm, Mary holds out the cod piece. "I really like this part Beth. It's a really good idea."

Mom looks back as she walks toward the kitchen. "We thought so. A little insurance for the next grandchild."

Mary's eyes squint and she hisses in my ear so my mother doesn't hear. "Do you actually think I'm going through this," she waves her hand toward her stomach, "again?"

"I don't know Mare. Remember when you made Stan and I promise to shoot you if you ever had three kids?"

"Exactly!"

"So this one, plus Norah and Marty – makes three!" I gleefully point out.

Mary puts her hands in her hair, tugging. "Aargh, that's why we're never doing this again."

I get as close as I can and nuzzle her neck. "Sunshine, are you saying we'll never make love again?"

She splutters. "No! You know what I mean!"

I do know what she means but I'm content to wait till after this baby is born to consider having more.

Dad, Conran and Stan arrive and dinner is served. Plans are discussed. Weak points shored up. Who is Stan going to get to be Mary's body double? Who can we trust? Who would accept the dangerous role? I don't have anyone in mind and it's time for Mary to leave. Joanna called and I got to say good night to Marty and tell Norah her mom would be there soon.

* * *

 ** _The_** day has arrived. The location of my grave has been carefully selected. Good sight lines, defensible locations. Conran has a surveillance van and had cameras installed on the crematorium and several nearby mausoleums. We've been over the plans night after night. This better flush out the bomber. There's no plan B.

The day of my funeral is bright and sunny – just another way this whole thing is so wrong. I insist on being there and if I'm here, so is Mary. Mom and Mary check that my standard issue vest is over the custom armor. A dark unmarked windbreaker goes over both. I help Mary with her vests and windbreaker and helmet. I run my hands over the different fasteners, making sure there are no gaps. "Stop feeling me up Doofus. I'm riled up enough!" I didn't want Mary there but there's no way I can get the damn stubborn woman to stay away. "Where the hell is your helmet?" she nags. "Afraid it will muss your hair?"

"I'll put it on before we leave the van," I promise.

She holds out her little finger. "Pinky swear?"

I lock fingers with her. "Promise to keep your head down?" She nods. We're good to go,

Stan picks us up and drives us to a large warehouse. The door rolls up revealing Conran and a deep green van complete with cemetery signage. Where did he get that? I hold Mary's hand to calm her as she follows me into the van. Stan joins us and the four of us go over the plan one last time.

"I'll see you there. I'm picking up Delia." Stan shakes his head. "It's not the turnout you deserve Marshall, but it's better this way."

"I'm just glad it's not the real thing." All our planning is to make sure this time isn't for real.

Mary sighs. "Me too!" I know she's worried. Mary and I check out the van's equipment. The tech is state of the art. I barely understand what everything does let alone how it works. Conran seems familiar with everything.

It's a short drive to the cemetery. We park behind some unusually large Scrophularia montana. (In my head I can hear Mary. 'Just say bushes Doofus.') We check the coms and activate the cameras. Nice. We have a 360 degree view of the gravesite.

People start showing up well before 1:00 PM. It's weird seeing my folks and my brother Clint reluctantly approach the suspended casket. Joanna and the kids are safe at Mary's. We talked to them before we left. A couple more cars pull up and park nearby. There's Stan, Delia, Dawson, and oh my God, Abigail? I didn't think she would be here. Did Stan ask ABQPD to send a single representative and Abigail is it? At least there's no FBI or DoJ presence.

Faux Mary arrives late, just like the real Mary would. Who is the body double? Whoever it is did a credible job. She could pass as my partner, except for the hat. I've never seen Mary wear one. Did Mary even own a hat? The long coat, hat and sunglasses do the trick.

Conran, Mary and I focus on the vans multiple screens. Mary and I will leave when we spot an uninvited guest. Dad, Stan, Mary, Mary's double and I are wearing com gear. Conran gives brief timely updates. I suspect he''s staying with the van to make sure he gets his deposit back.

It's time. My few mourners are gathered at the grave site. My family on one side, Delia, Dawson, Stan and Abigail on the other. ' _Mary'_ is at the foot of the grave as far as she can get from the others. A minister – or someone dressed as one –is gathering his notes at the other end.

"There!" Conran points out a late arrival checking out the van, and notifies the others. The intruder accepts the the van is legit and starts moving toward the grave. After a few minutes Mary and I ease out of the van. We track the gunman as he creeps closer to the mourners. It took a lot of arguing but for once I got Mary to stay behind me. The black gear and balaclava make the intruder easy to spot and the rifle means he's not friendly. As he raises his rifle I press the barrel of my gun to his neck. "Drop the weapon." He hesitates and I push harder. The rifle drops and Mary picks it up. This is too easy. A pro would have heard us coming. Mary gives me her WTF look and I raise an eyebrow in agreement. Something's not right.

"Got him!" I transmit. There's a squawk from Conran I don't understand. Mary whirls around facing me. What the hell is she doing? Why is her Glock aimed at me? I know she's threatened to shoot me many times but does she really want to test our new vests?

"Gun!" she shouts. I'm holding the rifle, Mare. Tell me something I don't know. "Down. Get down Doofus!" Oh? I roughly push my guy to the grass. Before I'm all the way down I hear a bullet whine too close. It's quickly followed by a weird muffled explosion. Mary's running past me yelling "Second shooter down." Two assassins? Now that's overkill.

Dad, Stan and Clint are running toward us, guns drawn. Dad goes to Mary. Stan to me. Dawson, Delia and Abigail have their guns out but don't know what to make of the situation. With all the gear I'm wearing I don't think they recognize me. Guilt zaps through me. I know it's petty and childish but I don't want Abigail to know I'm alive. I watch her trade her gun for her phone. Calling for back up? Reinforcements would be good.

Mary's got her guy cuffed and is burning off excess adrenaline berating our wanna be shooters. What is this doing to her blood pressure? "You guys take some sort of pledge where you promise to go everywhere together like nuns? What's with the circular firing squad?" She and Dad pull the second shooter toward Stan and I.

Stan pulls the knit headgear off my shooter. As soon as his face is revealed the second shooter lurches toward him, barely restrained by Dad and Mary. "Who in the hell are you? Who sent you?" the first shooter yells. "What are you doing here?" Interesting. We keep the shooters apart. I check their handcuffs myself. Out of the corner of my eye I catch a blonde wig. Faux Mary has removed her sunglasses. Charlie? Is that really Charlie? ABQPD arrives on the scene. I'll be relieved when both of these guys are guests of ABQPD. How soon can we get JJ to identify them?

Once the shooters are in police custody, Delia and Dawson turn to me. It's cruel to keep them guessing so I remove my headgear. Delia rushes and gives me a muffin crushing hug. Dawson's jaw hangs open for long moments before he comes forward and shakes my hand. Their heads swivel between me and Charlie in a wig and lipstick. I'm glad Abigail isn't part of this reunion. She's yards away with her back to us escorting our prisoners.

I turn around when I hear Dad say. "Will you look at that?"He's holding the rifle the second shooter dropped. The barrel is split open. How in the hell did that happen? Looks like a squib got stuck in the barrel and exploded when the next round was fired. Must be my lucky day. I can't wait to hear that story.

By the time we finish the Marshall Mann reunion Stan has notified the FBI and DoJ. I'm breathing hard, agitated and just plain tired. This is more action than I've seen since the bombing. Mary can tell I'm drooping but I'm more concerned about her. Now that it's safe Mom comes out from mausoleum. "Mary! Have you eaten anything today?" Mary's stomach is complaining. Mom whisks us away from Abigail and herds us to my truck. In the back seat Mary and I lean against one another. After action statements can wait. I didn't even check on Conran. He can take care of himself.

Once we're home Mom points us toward my bedroom. "Rest you two. Dinner won't be ready for an hour. I'll bring you a snack." Mary and I sit down heavily on my bed. We help each other remove the gear and fall back. When Mom returns Mary sits up and grabs the plate of cheese and crackers possessively. Mary's not used to sharing. Mom gives Mary a pointed look. "Sorry." Mary sheepishly offers me the plate. Mom smiles and leaves. Stomachs mollified we lie down properly and fall asleep or pass out. I couldn't tell which.

The smell of Mom's beef stew makes a great wake up call. Mary sniffs before opening her eyes. I run the back of my hand gently down her cheek. "Wakey wakey Sunshine. Dinner's ready." Mary's eyes are at half staff but her stomach rumbles her fully awake. "This kid is going to eat us out of house and home! I'm always hungry!" she whines.

Stan is wrangling ABQPD and the FBI. He'll call later. Dad and Conran join us for dinner but no one talks about what happened. We've all been through the ringer and barely have enough energy to eat. I don't know how Mom managed to cook.

Joanna is staying with the kids, still under guard. At last Mary and I get some time alone. We change for bed. She is so cute in my smiley face pajamas. I should look for a frowny face set for her. We lie down facing one another. Hands caressing we confirm we're okay, we're here, we're real.

"I can hear you thinking," she complains tiredly.

"I can't believe you managed to piss off two people enough to want you dead! Even our witnesses haven't done that."

She flops down on her back and puts her arm over her eyes trying to block out today. If only we could. I roll onto my back close enough to feel her warmth but not touching.

"What can I say? It's a gift," she murmurs sleepily.

"The gift that keeps on giving."

"Tomorrow," she whispers.

"What?" The crinkle of the mattress and swoosh of covers as she rolls onto her side muffles her words.

"I'm too tired to think about that now. I'll think about it tomorrow."

"Sure thing Scarlett."

I manage is a gentle kiss to her cheek. Mary reaches behind and pats my arm. Even if we had the energy any extracurricular activities would be hampered by my parents are in the next room. She carefully spoons into me and tucks my arm around her waist.

* * *

Next morning Mary left without waking me. She's going to check on the kids and then go into the office to see about getting me undead. Conran goes with her and I breathe a sigh of relief when he reports she is safely in the Sunshine Building. The fact that there were two shooters just doesn't add up. Too many unknowns, too many loose ends. Mary could still be in danger.

After one of Mom's substantial breakfasts I persuade them to let me go to Mary's with them. I miss Marty. I miss Norah. Dad shares my uneasiness at yesterday's thwarted attack. I still don't know who we caught. Dad has me kiss the floorboards all the way there. I don't like it but I understand his concern. He pulls into Mary's garage and closes it before we get out.

As soon as I hit the door Marty grabs around my legs. "Daddy!" Norah is wriggling in Joanna's arms wanting to get down and join the fun. I give Marty a hug, kissing the top of his head then lean down. "Hey Norah boo, I missed you." Norah smirks and grabs my nose. Like her mother she's always ready to attack when my guard is down. It's time for Joanna to see her own place. We send her home but not alone. One guard goes with her. Dad and I and the remaining guard can take care of things here. I get to play with the kids, and the time flies. We get them to nap so Mom and Dad go grocery shopping and I rest and regroup. It's surreal to be doing normal every day stuff.

While my folks are out Stan calls. At first the AUSA accused Mary of drumming up business by bringing in JJ. They've found him to be credible and his testimony useful. We might get not only the Cusatos but some of their rivals. It's not official yet but I bet JJ's going into WitSec. Mary and I are anxious to talk to him but we have to wait till the DoJ does their thing. Who were the shooters? If they'd been ID'd, Stan hasn't heard. Charlie and Delia are getting faces to match the names on our bomber list and see if they were in Albuquerque at the time of my bombing.

Stan said he'd heard from Eleanor that something strange was going on in Allison Pierson's office. Sounds more serious than office gossip. Especially when coupled with the fact that Ms. Pierson narrowly missed being hit by a car. Stan ratcheted Ms. Pierson's security without alerting her office. There's always lots of marshals in and around her office. Stan's marshals are more than guards. They check her trash, run financials on her staff and monitor her daily meetings at work and after hours reporting only to him. The harder we look the more confusing it gets.

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A/N: The Albuquerque Journal and Alibi Weekly appear online. Thanks Jojo78 for editing. Thanks too for all those patiently following this story.


	46. Running on Empty

Sonn of Mann – Chapter 46 – Running on Empty

Marshall POV

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Mary's house

With Mom and Dad gone and the kids napping I have time to think. Ever since last night something had been nagging me. Something's missing. Not something, someone. Clint! He had clapped me on the back when we got the shooters, but I didn't get a chance for a proper greeting. What the hell happened to him? Why wasn't he at dinner last night? I know this was just a quick trip but couldn't he have spent a few minutes with his newly undead brother?

Aargh! I flop down on the couch. Too many unanswered questions. Why two shooters? Who are they working for? Does JJ know them? Who was the bomber? Are the kids safe? Is Mary safe? What's going on in Pierson's office? And where the hell is my brother? Underneath all the immediate life threatening concerns is my uncertainty about Mary. She's taunted me by days and haunted my nights for years. Can I really believe that she loves me?

It all happened too fast – finding out I have a son, Abigail breaking our engagement, discovering Mary is pregnant with my child, the bombing. There's nothing I won't do to protect her and our child, even if she hates me for it. She promised to be careful. I have to make sure she doesn't act like Mary – my balls to the wall partner. Memories, fears and dreams whirl when I close my eyes. All too soon I hear the baby monitor. Marty is talking to Norah, soothing her. Time to do the dad thing.

"Well hello there. Did you have a good nap?"Marty is standing by Norah's crib holding her little hand. He lets go when I lift Norah to the changing table. My little Mann rubs the sleep from his eyes as I change Norah. He's still blinking sleepily when I hear the garage door open. Marty goes to see who's there and Norah demands to get down.

"It's just us Marshall." I release the kids to go ahead of me to the kitchen.

"Do you need help getting the groceries? I can give you a hand." Why don't Mom and Dad have grocery bags?

Mom's smile sparkles when she sees the kids, but doesn't even attempt to answer. "Come to grandma baby, you too my big boy. We need to pack. Want to help me? We're going on a trip!" Mom picks up Norah and gives her a kiss on the nose. She takes Marty's hand and they head back to Norah's room.

Trip? Pack? I follow Dad who looks grim as he follows Mom down the hall but goes into Mary's bedroom. "Your mother is packing for Norah we're getting Mary's stuff."

"Dad, what's going on?" An ominous intensity guides his actions. He's trained me well so I don't wait for explanations just grab her go bag and a couple of suitcases from her closet.

"Clint called. It's not safe here for any of us." Dad opens a drawer and pulls out a handful of Mary's unmentionables. Dad gulps and drops Mary's thongs and bras as if he they were hot. Well they are, just not temperature wise. He shakes his hand to free it from the silk and satin and goes to Norah's room with the other suitcase. "Take enough for a week. Our things and Marty's are in the car. We packed your stuff too."

I'd love to peruse Mary's lingerie, but I just grab and dump. "Where is Clint?" I holler out the door as I continue to raid Mary's drawers. "I was so tired last night I didn't realize he didn't come home with us." I grab some tank tops, shirts, jeans and socks. No time to linger. I spot her hiking boots and grab them and a heavy coat. In no time the suitcases are full and Dad runs them out to the car while Mom and I pack food, clothes, diapers and medication for Norah and Marty.

There's a new 4 wheel drive SUV in the garage outfitted with car seats. I check the seats, get the kids and buckle them in while Mom runs back for juice and snacks. Dad loads Mary's suitcase into his rental. How long will we be gone? I watch Mom get in the SUV adjusting the driver's seat and steering wheel. Should I should join her?

"You're with me." Dad tilts his head to the passenger seat of his rental. I climb in and Dad closes the garage door but we don't follow Mom. "Where's she going?"

"Don't worry. We'll meet up later. You and I are going to get Mary." Dad's knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel. He's been making the run from my house to the Sunshine Building for weeks and as much as I'd like to help, he doesn't need directions from me.

I know he'll tell me when he's ready. Until then I try to lighten the mood. "I guess now that I'm officially undead I get to sit up front with the big kids?"

Dad's grunts not amused. "Mary's the one they want dead. She's the target. The Cusatos hired the bomber and one of the shooters."

A chill runs down my spine. Mary's in danger and I'm not there! "How do you know?" When did he find this out?

"Your snitch, Mary's stalker, identified them." He concentrates on the road driving slightly over the speed limit. "And the phone logs and financials you and Charlie worked on show a connection between the hired gun the bomber and the Cusatos."

"JJ identified _one_ of the shooters? What about the other one?" Were they both after Mary?

"We don't know who hired the other guy. All we know is he's a pro. Whoever hired him can afford to hire more like him. That's why we're leaving town."

"You don't mean we're all going into Witness Protection?" I can't believe this. It's too ironic to be real.

"No." He gives me a quick thoughtful glance. "Not officially. Nothing on the books, no paper trail." He turns to me and smiles thinly a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Not reassuring. "We're a family going on vacation."

A family vacation? Brings back memories of when he would tuck my brothers and I into the back seat, cover us with blankets and drive until dawn. There must be a leak in the Marshal's Office, or the FBI. Could the leak be higher up, the DoJ? If they're after Mary it doesn't matter who knows I'm alive. That means it doesn't matter who witnessed my resurrection at the cemetery. Good thing too because coming back from the dead is prime gossip fodder.

"Will Clint be joining us?" I know my brother is a marshal but not exactly what he does. Given the need to keep my own position secret, I never pushed for details. His job must give him connections I don't have. Someone warned him. Someone he trusts.

"No, and as far as the Marshal Service is concerned you're still dead." Dad doesn't elaborate or explain. Could they have missed the goings on at the cemetery? His usual terse style of communication is scarce on details, a trait I didn't inherit.

We park in the Sunshine Building garage. Dad heads for the stairs then looks back, questioning whether I can make the climb. I nod and follow him. By the time we get to the WITSEC floor I'm trying not to huff, trying to perform to Dad's standards.

I swipe us into the office. My eyes fall to my old empty desk. Mary isn't here so we head straight for Stan's office. Technically, my office. Dad wrenches open the door and strides up to Stan's desk, startling him. "Where's Mary?"

Stan looks up wondering why the sudden demand. "She and Delia went to the ABQPD with JJ. He's there for the lineup. Why?"

Dad answers before I can get the awful words out. "There's a hit out on Mary."

Stan's got the phone in his hand dialing. "Let me see if she's still there." I'm already calling her cell. "You think they'd try to get her at police headquarters?"

Dad snorts. "With what I've heard, anything's possible." Oh this is bad. I'm imagining a conspiracy of epic proportions focused on killing Mary. But why her?And why now when she's pregnant?

I sigh with relief when she answers. "Doofus?"

I put all the command I can into my voice. "Mare, where are you right now." I can hear her moving, telling Delia I'm calling.

"At police headquarters."

"Where _exactly_?"

"We're leaving the basement holding cells. Why?" I know that level. It's a Skinner box of hallways perfect for an ambush.

"They're after you, and they could be anywhere in that rabbit warren." I hear Mary inhale sharply.

"Yeah, okay." She's distracted and instead of a goodbye she calls out. "Delia!" Then nothing.

"Stan she's at the holding cells downstairs. I think someone just attacked Delia."

I hear Stan yelling into the phone, "Holding cells, NOW. My Inspectors are in danger." I'm already out the door, but Dad has the keys. I practically fall down the stairs I toiled to climb. Dad tosses me the keys and I take every short cut to the cop shop.

The bullpen is a churning sea of uniforms. They know something's going down but not where or what they need to do. A few are on the elevator. A few more are on the way to one of the stairways. Having memorized the floor plan years ago I get to the nearest basement stairs and drag Dad along. There are cops in front of us, plain clothes and uniform. How do I know one of them isn't hunting her? We all pour into the basement hall. Bare light bulbs create threatening shadows. There are no windows. Multiple hallways branch off of the one we're in. Dad grabs my elbow and points to a hallway on our right. Scuffling and a loud cry.

The basement is a maze but I know several corridors converge right in front of the holding cells. I don't remember how I got there but Delia is face down on the floor her trench coat flowing behind her. Mary is kneeling on a guy while another man is behind her, arm raised holding a tire iron. My gun is in my hand but I know I haven't pulled the trigger when a shot rings out and the man crumples. The tire iron falls from his grasp and Mary raises her arm to keep it from hitting her.

"No one messes with my future grandchild." Dad quietly holsters his piece. After kicking the tire iron away Mary catches Dad's eye. "I think we're even."

Dad puts his hand on her shoulder. "I'm happy to return the favor." Mary gives him a watery smirk, remembering when she saved his life. Dad and Mary muscle her guy upright.

"Nice of you to save us the trip. Idiot!" Mary says as she shoves the handcuffed guy into an open cell. The clang of the door closing makes me sigh in relief. The police make sure the cell is locked and yell for the EMTs.

Both attackers are down so I yell "Clear," and check Delia. Her pulse is strong. "Officer down!" I wave the paramedics over. They swarm, do a quick assessment and lift her into the elevator. The others check the guy Dad shot. He'll live. Good. Maybe we can get some answers.

I spot Mary and see her stagger. I'm at her side in a flash enveloping her in a hug, supporting her physically and emotionally. She gulps and grabs my shirt pulling me closer. Is she light headed from standing up too fast? Is her blood pressure high again? The last few minutes weren't exactly relaxing. "Are you about to become a multicolored organic fountain Sunshine?"

Her look says WTF loud and clear so I translate. "Are you going to throw up?" She gulps and sniffs, releasing my shirt.

"No, but I need to get out of here. It's too close, too dark." Is she having flashbacks? Is this like the basement where Spanky held her?

The attackers are in custody. The EMTs have the injured. The CSIs are on the scene with their tape and yellow evidence markers. "C'mon," Dad commands gruffly. "Time to go."

"I need to check on Delia." Mary isn't with the program. In truth neither am I, but he's my Dad and I obey. I've got to get her moving.

"Delia is in good hands. We've got to get out of here. For once Mare, just do it." I plead, taking her arm and hustling her to the stairs.

Seeing Seth's grim expression and my determination Mary starts moving. Dad takes point and I walk behind her – the same way we protect a witness. Mary looks over her shoulder and cocks a questioning eyebrow. I shake my head. She understands - _not now_.

Dad barks warning off anyone who tries to stop us. I shove Mary into the back seat and join her. She gives me another WTF look but buckles up. I never realized Dad drives like Mary – fast, rough and over the speed limit. I've had enough mystery and am about to ask him to explain when he starts talking.

"Marshall's brother Clint found out that the second shooter wasn't hired by the Cusatos. We know why the Cusatos wanted you."

"Because they think I talked Robin into testifying against her family," Mary elaborates.

"Right but we don't know who hired the other shooter. Until we find out we're all on the lam."

Mary's face is screwed up in worry. "What about. . ."

Dad doesn't let her finish. "The kids are safe. They're with Beth. We'll meet up tonight. They're in good hands. Conran will be riding with her."

That was news to me. "What about Clint?"

"For now it's better if he's not with us. He can go where he needs, get access, question people. It's better that way. We're his priority. He's working on who called the hit on Mary and nothing else." Dad must have talked to Clint at some point. He's so certain.

Mary's worried and I can't blame her. "I need to question JJ. Mia and Robin both told me a lot about their family and 'friends.' I'll know if he's telling the truth."

Dad objects gruffly. "You can't be there. They'll be waiting for you. " I'm sure Clint and Stan can find a way for us to hear what JJ has to say. Technology should make it so.

"Dad, what about Stan?" Mary gives me a worried look. She hadn't considered that Stan could be at risk too.

"He's still running the official investigation as well as your office, remember? He stays put. We need him plugged into the system. He'll contact us when he needs to."

Does that mean Stan's not in danger? Or just no more danger than usual?

I take Mary's hand for comfort. I'm not sure who needs the reassurance more. Distraction could help. "When's your next OB appointment?"

She gives me her you're an idiot look, but answers. "Not for three weeks. Why?"

"Because I want to be there and I'm not sure how long it will take for us to wrap this up." Mary isn't much for holding hands. The fact that she keeps her hand in mine tells me she is as worried and frustrated as I am.

Dad uses the rear view mirror to check on us. "We'll join Beth and the kids tonight. You'll get to tuck them in. Then Connie and I will fill you in. So sit back, relax and leave the driving to me."

I give Mary's hand a squeeze and although her brow is still furrowed her shoulders drop as she feigns relaxing. I know she's more comfortable in the role of hunter. Being the hunted isn't fun. She puts her head back and rolls to look at me. I give her hand another squeeze, gratified when she doesn't pull away. Together we'll get through this. We always do.

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A/N: Next chapter M&M action - well - M&M talk. Thanks for following this never ending story! It's been over a year and I still am chapters away from wrapping it up! Comments, thoughts, reviews welcome.


	47. True Confessions

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 47 – True Confessions

MARSHALL POV

We've been on the road a while and I haven't spotted Mom's car once. She did have a head start, but we must be taking a different route. The tires hum as they lap up the miles but the quiet inside is unsettling. Mary's seldom quiet or still and for the last half hour she's been both, probably digesting the news that someone wants her dead. Someone with the means to do it.

"Mare? How are you feeling?" She seems to have forgotten I'm here. She doesn't answer but her stomach does. I fish a granola bar out of my pocket. It's the chocolate chip kind and her eyes light up as she snatches it from my hand.

"Thanks Doofus." She gives me her half smile. "We need this." She wastes no time stripping off the wrapper and biting off a big chunk. She chews slowly savoring the sweetness resting her head on the seat back. She used the royal _we_ acknowledging her pregnant state. I would tease her about it but I'm thrilled that she's accepted and internalized the reality of our baby. Our baby. Unbelievable.

"What's unbelievable?"

Did I say that out loud? I must have because she sighs. "It is pretty unbelievable. If it weren't for the damn morning sickness, the multiple positive pregnancy tests and that sonogram, I wouldn't believe it."

Doesn't she want to believe? "Are you unhappy that it's true?" I know the physical effects of pregnancy can take a toll, but does she want this baby?

"You want to talk about this _now_?" She jerks her chin to the front seat where Dad is doing his best to pretend he's not hearing every word.

"Why not? This is the first time you and I have had a chance to discuss it. _Are_ you sorry you're pregnant?" I don't care what Dad hears. I know he's listening and there's nothing I have to say that he can't know. Mom will know it too as soon as he tells her. And he will tell her.

"Nyah. Not sorry exactly. In my cockamamie screwed up life this" she looks down at her almost imperceptible baby bump, "seems normal, expected even. I never expected to keep Norah and yet I love her with all my heart. Nothing I do for her is a sacrifice. It's the same with this little one. I'm scared – geriatric pregnancy, being on the run. None of it is good for the moocher."

"I brought the blood pressure cuff. We can monitor it, make sure." I waggle my eyebrows. "I can help you relax." She almost smiles.

"I am happy. I am." _Who are you trying to convince Mare? "_ I know you want kids and I know I've been the taker in this relationship, but I want to give you this. I have a hard time thinking about it when someone is gunning for me, for us. You and I haven't even had time to talk about where this is all going."

"True." I put my prayer posed hands to my lips. "We've been a little busy keeping the hit men at bay. But I have thought about it." Thought about it? Dreamed about it. This is my most outrageous fantastic wish come true. Mary and I together, a baby on the way, two toddlers, a real family with grandparents and cousins, birthday and holiday celebrations! If we weren't running for our lives I'd be deliriously happy. I feel a twinge of guilt about Abigail. I don't actually miss her.

"What do you want our future to be?" Mary seems to have forgotten that my Dad can hear us.

"What do you want?" I'm not going to push her into anything. That never works.

Mary doesn't notice but I see Dad check the rear view mirror when she punches me. "I asked first."

I rub my bicep. "You and the kids are my priority. You know that. I want us to be a family."

"Really Doofus? You know I'd never keep you from this kid. You don't have to be saddled with me for that."

Can she really not see that I love her not because of the baby but because of who she is? "Mare, you are not a burden to me. You are a joy, the spark that makes my life worth living."

She looks at me askance. "Don't bullshit me, Sparky. I made your life hell for years. I belittled your hobbies, blew off your trivia. . ."

"But you saved my life time and again. And I know you take my skills seriously." She starts to protest. "Don't deny it. I've heard you defend me when someone disparaged me."

"Don't say disparaged." Her reply is perfunctory requiring no thought. She's buying time, trying to figure out if I'm telling the truth, if I can be trusted not to break her heart. God Mare, you trusted me with your life for ten years. Doesn't that count for something? Well there was the engagement, and that talk on the balcony redefining our friendship. Doesn't she realize. . . .

"You know when you asked me to release you it hurt, a lot. At the time I figured it was the only thing I could give you, your freedom from the shit storm of my life. Someone recently told me that if you had really wanted to be free you wouldn't need to ask. You would just do it. You wouldn't need me to release you."

I hadn't thought of it that way. She's right. I didn't need permission. The fact that I asked says that I will never be free of my love for this frustrating, beautiful, damaged, compassionate woman. There could be no one else for me and I was a fool to try and replace her with a socially acceptable model.

"What kind of future would you like Sunshine? What's your ideal? Your dream?"

Mary shakes her head. "Until Norah I never gave the future much thought. When I was FTF it was enough to wake up in the morning still alive. Even with Raph, I couldn't imagine a wedding let alone a life. This is all new territory for me. I have thought about Norah's future a lot. I want her to be happy, safe. I'd like her to be smarter than her mother, to not make the mistakes I've made, to not spend her life angry at the world and everything in it. Now, you and I and this here," she pats her bump and shakes her head mystified. "I can't imagine."

I'm sad that she can't imagine our future, can't accept being happy. "How about if I tell you what I see for us?" Usually I wouldn't presume to tell Mary what to think, what to imagine, but she just sort of gave me permission. "I see three spirited beautiful children who are loved by their mommy and daddy. I see you ensconced in your office downtown doing whatever you can't tell me about and I in my Chiefs office doing what I can't tell you about."

She chuckles. "So much for sharing our lives."

"We can't share our professional lives but we'll share everything else." I am looking forward to sharing a bed, a home and so much more.

She raises an eyebrow. "And how would that work Emily Post?"

"Family vacations." She snorts since this trip has been advertised as a family vacation. "Breakfasts teaching the little ones how to make pancakes."

"Good luck with that. You're doing clean up!" Her pointy finger hits my chest.

I give her a wry look. "Don't I always? I'm not teaching you to make pancakes."

"Damn straight!"

"Would you stop interrupting?" She puts her head down, smiling that she got a rise out of me. "I see a charming warm home" she snorts in disbelief, "with space for us and the kids, and a guest room or two for family visits. We would share an office." She shakes her head and mutters something that sounds like _no way_. "We'd have separate desks," I grind out, irritated. I wait for her to mock me saying, 'oh separate desks.'

Instead her voice is soft. "You've really thought about this haven't you? Is this what you and the detective had in mind?"

"No," I answer angrily looking her straight in the eyes. "Mare you are not a substitute for Abigail." I drop my gaze to my lap. "She had something else in mind."

"Oh she did, did she? And what about what you wanted? Did she even ask you?"

"I don't want to talk about her I want to talk about you," I pause, "and me. Can you do that?"

She nods, chastened, thoughtful. "It's just that when I was with Raph he was the one with all the plans of how we should be, where we would live and all that. Honestly I didn't have any ideas but he never asked. It's hard for me to wrap my brain around a family with two parents, kids who know they are loved for just being kids, belonging together."

"You've got it Mare." I assure her. "That's it. Everything else, the house, the job, the swing set is just window dressing."

"Wait isn't it a white picket fence 2.5 kids and a dog? What about the dog? Whatever happened to Oscar?"

I lean down glumly. "Abigail took him."

"Some spirit guide he turned out to be," she huffs.

"What do you mean spirit guide?"

"Your witness Carlos – the alpaca farmer?" Her voice is whispery. "Seeking spiritual enlightenment by sitting in a smoky hole to become – what did you call him? - a shaman?" I do remember him. Ironic that his last name was Ramirez.

"Of course. Hippie granola, I remember."

"I had to drive all the way to Las Cruces – with Oscar who stole my lunch – to tell him his mother had died. When I got there - pregnant and sweaty – he already knew. He saw his mother with the angels on his 'vision quest.' He told me Oscar was my spirit guide and would show me the way, what to decide about the baby."

Carlos may have had something there. "Oscar did destroy the potential adoptive parent files." I remember that. Mary was beside herself. Every file had been chewed and spit out except the Templetons.

Mary grimaces and harumphs. "So no dog to go with the 2.5 kids hmm? Maybe that's for the best. Toddlers and dogs – just say no."

Oscar was a sweet dog but there's no sense defending him since Abigail isn't going to give him up. At least not to me. Unless . . . I could get him to chew on a couple of her shoes. That makes me smile.

"What's so funny Chuckles?"

I might as well share. "Oscar sinking his teeth into Abigail's favorite shoes." That makes Mary smile too.

"Funny. He never bothered my shoes." Mary would have all the luck. As her spirit guide did he know better than to mess with her?

"Enough about dogs. What about us? What do **_you_** want?" I'm determined to get her to talk even if I have to drag it out of her.

Mary sighs tiredly. "A life without drama. I've had too much drama for no damn good reason. Healthy kids – that's the most important thing. Safety. We know too much about the danger in the world. I want to protect our children from that. Being able to pay the bills. A decent place to live. A job that doesn't take me away from the kids for days on end." She sighs. "That's my dream."

"What about me Mare?" Where do I fit?

She looks at me fondly. "You," she inhales, "you have always been my constant. You've given me so much I can't ask for more."

Argh! What does it take to get through to her? I take hold of both her arms, making her look me in the eye. "Get this through your head woman, you're not asking. I'm offering. I want us. I want the kids. I want a life with you starting as soon as it is safe and going till we're old and gray and have ten grand-kids running us ragged. Got that?" I glare at her.

Her eyes are soft and her mouth melty. She's on the verge of tears but won't let them fall.

"C'mere." When she doesn't move I unbuckle my seat belt and scoot next to her. She puts her arm over my lap and I'm a bit nervous with Mary so close to certain parts and my Dad in the front seat. She simply digs out the middle seat belt and clicks it around me. Always the protector. That's why I knew she'd be a good mom.

Finally I put an arm around her and take her chin in my hand, caressing her cheek, staring into her eyes. I kiss her gently, sweetly, lovingly. She returns the kiss and my heart and throat are full making my voice raspy. "For better or worse, I belong to you. I belong _with_ you, and you belong with me." I'm tired of tiptoeing around this. I'm being as plain spoken as I know how.

She pulls her head back. "You're sure? This is what you want? Me and Norah? You and Marty? A family?"

"Yes." I replied firmly.

"Fer gods sake Mary, how many ways does he have to say it?" Mary blinks as Seth's voice registers.

I move from her cheek to finger comb her hair, soothing my wild exotic woman. She settles on my shoulder. I place a kiss on the top of her head. The events of the day and our talk have drained us both and we sleep.

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A/N: About time these two got to talk! Hope you liked it. Next: Mary POV


	48. Safe as Houses

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 48 – Safe as Houses

MARY POV

 **On the road to unknown location**

The sun pierces my eyelids forcing me awake. I refuse to acknowledge the day and keep my eyes closed wanting a few more minutes of sleep, of peace. One side of me is cold and the other is warm. I snuggle closer to the warmth and realize it's Marshall. His arm is around me, his chest my pillow. Disgustingly awake I lift my head and can't help but smile at his messy hair. Where in the hell are we?

Seth is still driving but we're off the highway. He's winding his way through a housing development. The houses look new, freshly painted with xeriscaped front yards. We're still where water is scarce. Speaking of water I hope we stop soon. I gotta pee.

"You awake back there?" Seth must have noticed my eyes were open.

"Yup." I yawn and whisper raspily into his ear. "Doofus." I jostle his shoulder with mine. "Wake up!"

He grunts, his eyes stay closed but he tightens his hold on me. "You know Sunshine there are much better ways to wake up the man in your life."

"Yeah," I snicker. "But I can't do that in the back of your father's car."

His ears turn a lovely pink. He growls and puts his hand on the back of my head pulling me in for a drugging kiss. I'm not ready for the overwhelming rightness I feel. It's not arousal exactly. Not when I'm barely awake. It's not lust or any other emotion I can identify. It's warm, comfortable, safe. Seth laughs at us so I pull away.

"You two are going to have to make it legal before you get arrested," he jokes.

"Nothing I haven't seen you and Mom do," Marshall retorts.

"Yes, but we're married," his Dad replies smugly.

I pipe up. "As soon as people stop trying to kill us we can get married. No sense having a big to do for the snipers to crash." Doofus is smiling his big goofy grin. We already talked about getting married, why does he seem surprised? Just because I stopped wearing the stupid twist tie doesn't mean I changed my mind. Does he think I would back out now?

Dad nods in agreement. "We're working on that."

Yeah well I'd like to see some results soon. This is getting old. I miss Norah and this moocher wants breakfast and I still need to pee. "We'd better be close to our destination or Marshall and I will be floating back here."

"Mare!" Miss Priss objects.

"What? I gotta pee. You're lucky this seat isn't already wet." I really do have to go. I purposely drank very little because I knew we had to get out of Dodge ASAP and frequent gas station stops would make the drive even longer.

"Did you know that a man's bladder is five times the size of a woman's? In order to make room for a baby a woman. . . ."

I poke him hard. "Don't care Doofus. Unless you can find a way for me to use your bladder."

I can tell he's sorting through that trivia trove that passes for his brain. "They make a device called the Motorman's Friend. It's a tube . . ." I put my hand over his mouth and then decide there's a better way to shut him up and distract myself from the urgent call my bladder is making. The kiss starts out sweet but quickly escalates to breathless.

I know Seth is pretending he isn't watching. "Can you hold it another five minutes?"

Breaking our kiss, I cross my legs and concentrate on doing the kegels I learned when I was pregnant with Norah. "Aargh. I'll try!"Marshall puts his hand over his mouth but I know he's laughing. I don't dare break my containment concentration to punch him. Thank god it was a short five minutes. Seth pulls into the driveway of a house that looks like all the others in this Stepford development. I'm unbuckled and it's a good thing Beth is holding the front door open. When she sees my scrunched up face she says, "To the right. First door on your right." Guess there's some things a mother never forgets.

I'm peeing like a race horse when I see the doorknob turn. "Oh no you don't. Hold your horses. I'm almost done." Actually I feel as if there's a lot more to go but I didn't lock the door.

I hear Beth's soft voice. "Mommy needs her privacy. She'll be out soon." My Norah bug will just have to wait. I'm washing my hands when I look in the mirror above the sink and see the door open. "Hi Bug. Miss me?"

"Mamaaa," she squeals and grabs onto my thigh. What a relief. When I was stuck in that Denver hospital for two weeks she was mad. She wouldn't even look at me when I came home. Thank goodness she's forgiven or forgotten that. My hands aren't totally dry but I pick her up anyway, wiping them on her dark overalls and enjoying her sweet baby smell.

"Did you have good time with Grandma Beth? Did you and Marty play?" We mosey out of the bathroom and I get my first look at our temporary residence. The living room is large with a few steps leading up to the kitchen at the back of the house. The bedrooms must be down the hall from the bathroom I just used. Marshall and Seth are hauling our bags in that direction.

I'm still holding Norah as we make our way to the kitchen. Beth is busy making breakfast. The seductive smell of bacon wafts its way straight to my stomach which complains loudly. The table is set and Marty is putting a napkin beside each plate. "How can I help?"

"You can grab a plate and feed my grandchild! Get some of these eggs and pancakes and bacon off the serving plate so there's room for more." Okay. That I can do. I sit Norah at the table and do as Beth directed. I bring a plate for Norah and blow on the scrambled eggs, testing their temperature against my lower lip. Norah must be hungry because she tries to grab the fork.

Marty sits on my other side and Beth brings him a plate. I tuck a napkin in his shirt. I hear running water. It stops and Seth and Marshall join us. Marshall sits next to Marty giving him a big hug that transfers the eggs on Marty's napkin bib directly to Marshall's shirt. I glare at him then at Marty's bib. He looks down and shrugs. Smooth move Doofus. We need to change clothes anyway. A shower would be great too. When Seth and his wife sit down there is still an empty chair. I tilt my head toward it and raise an eyebrow.

Seth understands. "Conran will be joining us." Right on cue I hear the garage door open.

"Connie, grab a plate," Beth's greeting is all he needs to help himself, sit down and dig in. For long minutes the only sounds are forks hitting plates, and chairs scratching when someone gets up for seconds. Even the kids put away a good amount of eggs and toast.

Seth is drooping into his plate when Beth gently squeezes his shoulder and leads him down the hall. Guess we won't be getting that briefing after all. I help Beth clean up while Marshall takes a few toys out to the living room. Beth chases me out of the kitchen when the table is cleared.

Marty is vrooming his little cars under the tunnel of Marshall's long legs bent at the knee. Marshall has his back against the couch sitting on the carpet. Connie sits next to Marshall but his scrawny old frame demands the comfort of the couch. I join Norah on the floor leaning against the love seat across the way. Norah ignores Marty and the cars to climb Mt. Mom. I have to repeatedly move her feet away from her sibling to be. Baby #2 better be tough. He/she is going to have to defend themselves right out of the box.

Frustrated by her inability to climb up to my shoulder Norah decides to check out the action across the way. While Marty is wriggling under the Marshall tunnel Norah decides on a more direct route – stepping right on his lap. Anticipating disaster I shoot up and grab my angel right before she puts her incredibly heavy little foot on Marshall's family jewels. I have plans for those. Marshall had his head turned and missed the whole thing.

Seeing Norah so close he picks her up and sets her on his lap, leaning her back against his thighs. He takes her hands and claps them. "Hey Norah bug. Patty cake?" I've never done this with Norah and the look she gives Marshall lets the world know she thinks he's off his rocker. She makes me laugh which makes Marshall grin. Norah scrambles off almost kicking him in the chin. She goes to Marty who gives her several cars to choose from. She picks one and they are off to the races.

With the kids occupied, I am itching to find out what new information Conran has. "Seth said you had a line on who is after me?" I avoid the word kill, murder and shoot around the little pitchers with big ears. I'm tired of chasing our tails with and getting no answers. I can understand the Cusatos desire to wipe me from the face of the earth. They blame me for Robin's defection, and probably Mia's as well. Who else wants my hide and why?

"We traced some of the calls from Pierson's office to some burner phones." He shakes his head, disgusted. "Dead end. We can't tell who made the calls. It could be any extension. Her cell records seem clean. Charlie is looking at them line by line. Last we talked he hadn't found anything."

Hells bells, that's discouraging. Don't we have anything that ties Pierson to whoever hired the shooter? "Do you think Pierson hired the shooter?"

Conran shrugs. "Could be. But why would she want you dead? What would she gain?"

"Let me have a crack at her financials" Marshall insists, "and the financial records for her staff. There's got to be something." He's as frustrated as I am.

Conran pats him on the shoulder. "Play with your kids. You'll have time to look at them at naptime."

"Yours or theirs?" I arch my brow and tip my head toward the kids and smirk. Conran looks bushed. He sighs, and leans his head against the couch. "Tired?" I ask.

"I couldn't let Beth do all the driving. She's kept an eye on the kids. Drinks, snacks, diapers."

"Why don't you sack out?" If he drove all night he must be as tired as Seth.

"You're in my bedroom." Guess he's sleeping on the couch.

Beth comes from the kitchen. "Mary, you and Marshall could move the kids to their bedroom. I don't think we should leave the house, but I'm sure you two could entertain Marty and Norah for a while. I brought a lot of their toys," she gives Marshall a knowing look, "and all of their books."

"Sounds good to me. Move it Doofus." Marshall groans as he pushes himself up. Oh yeah, he's still healing. Good one Shannon. Forgetting you partner is injured. I give him a hand up. "Norah, we're going on an adventure." She gives me a look. I widen my eyes and smile. "We're going exploring, looking for books and . .. ." I pause.

"Trains!" Marty crows. "Dinosaurs and bwocks and books. I help Gandma put them in a bag. Are they here?"

"Let's go check that out." Marshall croaks as he stands. He looks so normal, so Marshall, I forget he was on the receiving end of a bomb. Better look at those bandages soon.

"Bring your cars," Marshall directs. We all pick up toys and head down the hall. Their room has a twin bed and Norah's play yard with large bag in it. We close the door so Conran and Seth have a chance to sleep and Marty dives into the bag and gets out the trains. Norah is content to sit and stack blocks. Marty pushes the trains in a circle around her. He's careful not to bump Norah or her constructions. When their eyelids start to sag, Marshall gets out the books. He's on the floor with a kid on each side.

The bed is calling me. I shuck my boots and crawl behind Marshall. I prop myself up on one elbow and rest my chin on his shoulder. I can see the book, Norah and Marty. They are entranced by the story and the sounds Marshall makes. He does different voices for each character, makes train sounds, clopping hooves, meowing cats, roaring tigers - making the story come alive. As we all relax, content and entertained it dawns on me that we are, what we are doing is being a family. I lie back to think about that.

When my eyes open the blinds are drawn and I'm alone covered with a light blanket. I panic for a second wondering where the kids are but then I hear Marshall's quiet voice. "Mommy's tired Bug. She's resting, but she's okay. I promise."

I groan and wipe the sleep from my eys. "I'm up, I'm up." I get my feet on the floor and put my elbows on my knees, holding my hair at bay. Norah pushes the door open and Marshall goes to open the blinds. "C'mere Bug. Did you have a good nap?" I hear cupboard doors opening and closing in the kitchen. I should give Beth a hand with lunch or dinner or whatever the hell it is.

"They slept for two hours. You beat them by an hour." He clucks his tongue. "You are so damn competitive!" He sits next to me puts his hand on my shoulder. I barely tolerate most physical contact but his touch has always been different. I lean against him and his arm goes around me and his voice is soft, serious. "I'm glad you got some rest." I turn my head and let myself collapse in his arms, then straighten suddenly. "Your back. We should change the bandages. Where's the ointment?"

Marshall hugs me and gently squeezes. "Mom took care of it." Norah has her thumb in her mouth taking it all in.

"Uh, oh. Good. Did you get a nap? How are you feeling?" Marshall was awake longer and I wasn't recovering from being in the blast zone. A little voice reminds me. _He's not pregnant_.

Marshall puts his elbows on his knees and exhales loudly. "Yeah, I tried to sleep but I feel so useless Mare. What am I doing here when I should be working the case? I've racked my brain and I can't figure out who would want you. . . ." He feels me move and sees my raised eyebrows and frantic head tilt pointing to Norah. "Who even knows what you do besides our witnesses and Raph?" he adds bitterly. "Is there anyone, anyone outside of WITSEC you've managed to piss off?"

I shake my head, "Nope. You know me. I'm the unwelcome wagon. Hell I don't even have any friends on Spacebook." _I'm not on it but if I was, that would be_ _the_ _truth_. "Between work and Norah I haven't had time and let's face it 'How to Win Friends and Influence People' was never on my to do list. When she's with Mark I just catch up on sleep." I pick up Norah and put my nose on hers. "Don't I Norah bug?" I cuddle her and check her diaper.

"You've made friends."Marshall protests. "What about that guy you brought to Stan's party?"

"Kenny?" He nods. "Between his schedule and mine our" _oh god what word can I use?_ "rendezvous were difficult to arrange. After a while we both stopped making the effort. He was okay I guess, but" I turn and gaze into his eyes "he was no Marshall Mann." I flutter my eyelashes and use my best Mae West sultry tone. "Why settle for the rest when I've got the best?" Norah wriggles in my lap and stares at me. See Bug, Mommy can make strange sounds too. I give her an Eskimo kiss. That got a guffaw out of Marshall. Mission accomplished.

"Mom's got lunch ready. You hungry?"

"Does Bush make beans?" I rub my stomach. I'm going to need new pants soon. Hope Doofus packed my sweats.

We're barely out of the bedroom when Conran frantically gestures holding out a burner phone. "It's Stan."

Why is Conran so worked up? Where's Seth? Where's Marshall's brother?

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A/N: Thank you for following and favoriting this story. I never dreamed this story would still be unfinished a year later. I can't even tell you it's winding down! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy (slowly) writing it. Special thanks to Jojo78 - my sounding board and unfailing prod to the muse.


	49. What a Tangled Web

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 49 - What a Tangled Web

MARSHALL POV

 _Conran frantically gestures holding out a burner phone. "It's Stan." Why is Conran so worked up?_

* * *

Dad and Mom rush down the hall. Mom slows to Marty and Norah speed. She decides the kids don't need to hear this and herds them to their bedroom and toy cache. The rest of us move to the kitchen table where Conran puts the phone on speaker. "What's going on Stan? We're all here. I've got you on speaker."

Stan coughs and I can picture his bald head glistening with nervous perspiration. Is he worried about being overheard? He's worried about something. "Clint's been poking around. The burner phone calls were made to look like they came from Allison's office but they actually were routed to and from the AUSA's office."

I groan. That doesn't get us anywhere. The AUSA's office has the same phone set up as Pierson's. Conran comes to the same conclusion. "How does that help us?"

"Here's where it gets good. After Tippy Boswell was indicted the AUSA's office and Pierson's office had their phone system upgraded to accommodate a TTY line, among other things." Mary's giving me her WTF look. Dad's expression is unchanged. Conran understands.

"TTY, text telephone service for the deaf before there was cell phone texting." I explain. Mary still doesn't get it. "All the phone lines in both offices go through a server. A server that can be hacked." Especially if you are already in the office inside the firewalls. Promising.

"The calls came to and from Dane Ferguson's office. Clint also got a look at Pierson's computer. He found an encrypted file, the only one like it on her hard drive. He was able to copy and decode it and . . . wait till you hear this. It's a letter from Pierson to Randy Fetwell, a known gun runner. She promises to shield Fetwell as a protected witness if he gives her a cut of his profits. But Clint says there's something more to the file. Marshall, Clint wants you to look at it."

I don't know who Clint knows or how he did this. _I'm pretty sure I don't want to know._ Months ago Clint and I had discussed a new program that recovered all changes on a document so you could peel them away to the original version. I can't wait till this is over so I can tell Mary how the nerd herd saved her life.

"Gotcha Chief. Can you send it now? I'll disconnect my laptop from the network as soon as I have it." Where's Mary going? Ah, she's bringing my laptop. I check my 'unofficial' email account that we set up when I was dead. The air seems thicker and the day darker as we wait for the email. "Got it." I save the file and disconnect from the network.

"I gotta go." Stan sounds as if he's covering his mouth, hiding this call. What's going on at the Sunshine Building? Is he even at the office? Stan is as wily as I suspected but it's hard to protect yourself from the bad guys when you aren't sure who they are.

Dad is seriously worried. No shit. So am I. Mary is still a target. "I'll leave this computer stuff to you guys and go give Beth a hand. I'll be more useful there." While that's true, I can tell he really wants to spend time with the grand kids.

Conran and Mary gather round as I open the file. I saved it in a quarantine area on my hard drive. It appears to be a straightforward Word document, all text no pictures. It opens without a password. Did Clint disable the password? If there wasn't any why encrypt it and then make it so easy to open? Too easy. Easy makes me nervous, puts me on edge checking and double checking for a virus, anything that could go wrong.

"I'll be damned." Mary and Conran are reading over my shoulder. He had gotten to the part with the names. "Why in the hell would she write this? Sure it's evidence against Fetwell but it implicates her too. Why would she have this on her computer, encrypted or not?"

I wonder if Pierson could really be that stupid or that crooked or. . . . "Deals like this are supposed to come from the AUSA, not the Marshal Service. I know she's new to the Service but she should have some idea of protocol. She certainly seemed interested in enforcing it when she visited Albuquerque."

Mary and I still share one brain when it comes to work. "Even I don't think she's that dumb. She didn't write this. Someone planted it." Mary sounds certain and knowing what we know it's the more likely scenario.

I interlace my fingers and stretch my arms out flexing my hands like a concert pianist before a recital. "Let's see." A few keystrokes opens the version reveal program. Each version will appear as a new page. The one we have names the gun runners and even what type of weapons are for sale. My anxiety ratchets up.

While we wait for the program to do its magic we study the first layer. Mary's soft cheek is next to mine, her hand on my shoulder as she reads the screen. "Wait." She points. "I know those names. Stephen Roach and Harmon McDaniel are wetbackers. ABQPD has a BOLO out on that scum. They're not running guns, they're running people."

"And McDaniel has connections over the border. He runs a string of coyotes. But it makes no sense to disguise human trafficking as gun running. They're both illegal." Conran seems to know a lot about McDaniel.

Mary stands and growls. "I've heard about their operation. That mother humping son of a bitch gets families to pay to cross the border but the coyote tells them it's safer if the children travel separately. Only the children never arrive. Several parents have turned themselves in to get someone this side of the border to investigate. The AUSA's office would know about this. They could be in on it and stop anyone who got too close to the operation. It has to be Ferguson, right? Or someone in his office?"

I push myself away from the table and tilt my head back, thinking. What in the hell have we uncovered? How many in the AUSA's office are involved? Is it just the one bad apple or the whole barrel? Is Pierson the perp or the victim? Are there any other encrypted files on her office's computers? How does Mary figure into this? We should check Mary's computer just in case. Whoever did this could get to Mary's computer as easily as Pierson's. My fingers itch. What I wouldn't give to get my hands on her desktop and laptop.

There's a chance. "Mare?"

I can tell Mary is outraged. Hands on hips, she is thinking what it must be like for those mothers who have lost their children to the filthy underworld. Mama Bear is not amused. "Umm?"

"Did we bring your laptop?"

"You packed for me Marshall. I haven't seen it. Why?"

Shit. That means its back in Albuquerque an easy target for anyone who wants to sabotage her career and end her life. We still can't explain what I need to know most. "Why would the AUSA want you dead? They planted a file on Pierson's computer that incriminates her, but what does that have to do with you?"

"Or," she chimes in. "Maybe there's something else that incriminates Ferguson. Maybe he was being blackmailed. Maybe whatever is being used to blackmail him is on our computers. That would explain why you were blown up. Maybe you **_were_** the target."

That's a lot of maybes but blackmail fits. It would have to be something big, something worth killing for, like uncovering the AUSA's involvement with human trafficking. "But who would do that?"

Once again my partner's ability to think deviously comes up with an answer. "Maybe he has a partner or a competitor who wants Ferguson out of the way?"

I pray they left cyber fingerprints. I need to talk to Clint. Can he get his hands on our office computers and Mary's laptop? Better to cover all our bases. I can sign onto my desktop remotely and check it over, but if our computers are being monitored that would leave a trail.

I get up and walk down the hall. "Dad?" I hear giggles in the kid's room. Dad pokes his head out then follows me to the kitchen. The program has done its magic. The original document deals with human trafficking. I show Dad how they switch from people running to gun running and tell him what we suspect about why we are targeted.

"Do you have a way of contacting Clint?" His grim face tells me he's sickened by the corruption in the institutions he has served so long and so faithfully. "Can you get Mary's laptop and both of our work computers here? I need to see if someone planted a file on our computers. I may be able to find traces that would lead us to the perp. If they can 'prove' we are dirty any investigation into our deaths would be perfunctory." My stomach churns saying the words.

Putting aside his dismay Dad scratches his chin and looks at Conran who shakes his head. Damn I really want to scrub our computers. It could give us the lead we need.

Dad drawls. "Nyah, I can't see gettin' the computers here, but Clint could look at them. Where's Mary's laptop?"

I thought Mary was still fuming but she's listening. "It's at my house, on the table by the fireplace, unless Joanna put it in my bedroom. Can someone go get it? They could send it to Marshall."

"Yup," Dad agrees. "That could work but let's have Clint take a look at it. We don't want to leave too many crumbs between here and there for someone to follow."

Wherever the hell here is. I didn't look around when I got out of the car. Hell, I haven't even been outside. No one has. This doesn't look like a government safe house. It's too lived in – the array of spices in the kitchen, the unmatched bathroom towels, and the well used tools in the garage. Although that does look like bullet proof glass on the front windows. Probably better if I don't know.

Mary's still working the problem. "Joanna has a key to my house. It wouldn't be unusual for her to go there. She could get the laptop and give it to Clint. Unless" she has a thought and glances up, worried, "you think it would compromise her safety."

"Let's leave Joanna out of this." I tell her. "I'm sure Clint can get into your place without it. He already has the alarm codes." Mary's eyebrows spike at that bit of info. Softly I add. "I'm worried about her too." Our vacation cover story is pretty thin. "I'll call Stan and let him know what we're looking for. He can arrange for our office computers to have a scheduled _upgrade_ while we're on _vacation_."

Dad nods. "And I know just the computer tech to do it." Amazing. For once in our lives Dad and I are on the same wavelength. With that cover Clint will have access to Mary's office computer. I'm sure he'll give the network a going over while he's at it. I call Clint and tell him what we have in mind. He says he can get to it tomorrow. Stan will see to it.

I can't believe it is getting close to dinner. Mom's been stuck entertaining our little live wires for too long. "C'mon Mare," I nudge her toward the hallway. "Let's give the old folks a rest." Mary grumbles and hoists herself out of the kitchen chair. When I take her hand I see her eyes blink sleepily. "Hey, if you want a nap - _I don't dare say need, stubborn woman_ —the kids and I can play in the living room. Conran can lie down on a real bed in the kids' room."

"I should give Beth a hand with dinner." She must really like Mom to make this offer. I know Mom likes her. I'm confident Mom would ask for help if she needed it. She seems to be happy to be cooking for her family again. Cooking for two can't be a whole lot more fun than cooking for one.

"Nope Sunshine. You and baby bean should get a few more z's. Just lie down for 20 minutes and recharge your batteries." She must be really tired because she doesn't fight me on it. Good! I get the kids to myself.

It's seems like years since I played with Norah and Marty. They sit on my feet while I walk around the living room making 'boom boom' noises. The scabs on my legs pull a bit but no there's no real pain. I hadn't lost muscle mass thank god. I would willingly endure more pain just to hear them laugh. It's easier to get Norah to laugh than to make her mother smile. Marty isn't used to horseplay and looks bemused.

Although Marty and Norah occupy me physically, my mind is churning with what ifs and how tos. Waiting is the hard part. I know which programs I'd use on our computers. It's frustrating to have to wait on Clint and his mysterious minions.

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A/N: The DoJ published recommendations for TTY service use in 2015. The 'unveiling' program Marshall uses is totally fictional, as far as I know. Thanks Jojo for once again seeing the errors I can't.


	50. Photo Bomb

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 50 - Photo Bomb

MARSHALL POV

Despite sharing a bed with the love of my life, I can't sleep. Any other time, any other place we'd be doing a hell of a lot more than sleeping. I'm stiff from lying still so I don't disturb Mary. She and the baby need all REM sleep she can get. Something catches my eye so I slowly turn my head to see the burner phone flashing. It's way too early so this must be important. I stealthily and reluctantly extricate myself from our bed. Checking the display I see a text message from Clint to check my email.

I pocket the burner phone, don a sweatshirt and grab my laptop. I look in on the kids – they look like little angels sound asleep. I don't want to wake anyone so I tip toe down the hall to the kitchen. Was my brother able to check the office computers already? Anxious for answers I open my laptop and retrieve the attachment on his email. It's a photo, actually a series of photos. According to the email they came from Mary's hard drive. Who are these people?

The burner phone vibrates. "Hey little brother."

"Hey yourself." I'm in no mood for pleasantries. "Do you recognize anyone in these photos?"

"Uh huh. Check the first one." I scroll to it and see about seven or eight men in suits but can make out only two faces. "These must be from a hidden camera the angle is so odd. The guy in the middle of the picture facing left is Dane Ferguson. The only other face you can clearly see is Fetwell with a new mustache."

"Can you fix it so I can run facial recognition here?" I think I know the answer but maybe Clint knows something I don't.

"No. It's too risky. We need to keep our calls to a minimum for the same reason."

Okay, I can accept that. After all Dad and Conran have done to keep us safe I appreciate the need to stay off the DoJ network. "Who else have you identified?"

"Go to photos 3 and 4." These must have been taken the same day because everyone is wearing the same casual clothes. "See the guy wearing a panther t-shirt? That's Roach. The guy next to him in the baseball cap is McDaniel. I'm working on the rest."

"Any idea why these were on Mary's computer?"

"Dunno little bro. Maybe Mary's right - blackmail. As far as I can tell they haven't been doctored." He sighs sadly. "It looks like Mary is blackmailing Ferguson."

"Can you tell how or when these appeared on her computer?"

He chuckles. "That's the thing. According to the system dates these appeared when she was in the Denver hospital. Someone screwed up. In any case, they're gone now."

Great just what we need, another mystery. "How could they get access to Mary's computer and not know she was in the hospital?"

"I dunno. Backtracking those photos requires mucking about in the network and that would trigger a security alert. Let me work on getting names to go with the faces and check the other computers in your office."

"What about Mary's laptop?"

"Haven't seen it yet. I'll get it today." Stan will probably take it to him. Despite using supposedly untraceable phones, we are careful not to use our names, or the names of anyone we care about.

"Have you checked my desktop and the other office computers?"

"Yours looks clean. I'll give it and the other desktops an in depth scrubbing today. Gotta go. Stay safe – all of you."

"Thanks bro."

I turn off the burner and put it in the 'used' bag. We have a dozen new ones with the location service disabled. Who bought all of these? I sure hope they aren't coming out of my paycheck. Will I even have a paycheck since the Marshal Service still thinks I'm dead?

I'm studying the rest of the photos when Conran shuffles into the kitchen. Eyes half closed he heads for the coffee maker. "Aren't you supposed to be recuperating? What are you doing awake?"

"Clint called. He found a bunch of photos on Mary's office computer."

Once the coffee maker is running he sits down. I push the laptop his way. He scrolls through the photos twice. I can't take the silence. Does he know anyone or not? "Can you identify any of these people?"

"Uh huh." He nods.

This is no time to be coy. "Well, who are they?" Shit! I hope I didn't wake anyone. I didn't mean to raise my voice.

He looks around the room. "Is there a printer here?" Not the response I wanted.

Conran and I are staring at each other when Dad walks in. "Yes." We both watch him, fully dressed putting mugs for coffee on the counter. "I'll get it." Dad goes to a door across from the sink I thought led to a pantry. Instead he opens to door revealing a descending staircase. A basement. He quickly comes shuffling up the stairs carrying a printer. Doesn't everyone keep their printer in the basement? Whose place is this? Why does Dad know his way around?

He sets it on the table and I check the ink and the paper tray. The paper isn't photo quality but it's bright enough to make clear prints. Once everything is connected and powered on I send the photos to the printer.

While they're printing I head for the coffee pot. Dad and Conran are already sipping their morning wake up. Conran grabs the prints as soon as the printer spits them out. He shows one to Dad and they both study it. "You got a pen?" he asks.

Dad finds one and hands it to him. "This" he circles a face "is Dane Ferguson." He writes the name next to it. Hope there's enough ink to print another set. I have a feeling we will all need to scrutinize them. Conran continues circling faces and writing names.

Mom's awake. She ambles into the kitchen wishing us a good morning and gets her own coffee. Everyone is here except the kids and Mary. I need to check on her and get the kids. Mom is getting out eggs and bacon. Breakfast will be ready by the time the kids are up.

I open our bedroom door slowly. Bands of sunlight reveals Mary lying on her back, arms up bracketing her halo of blonde hair. Venus rising from the sea couldn't be more beautiful. When I get close she turns her head to the side and opens her eyes. "Marsh?"

"Yeah Mare." I sit on the bed studying the woman I've desired for too many years. I cup her cheek and run my fingers through her hair. "Go back to sleep. I'll get the kids. Mom's working on breakfast." She closes her eyes and breathes out sleepily. Then I drop the bomb. Not nice, but it had to be done. "Clint found photos in a hidden file on your office computer." Her eyes fly open and she raises her head.

"Say again," she commands.

"There were photos of Dane Ferguson on your computer."

She wipes the sleep from her eyes and props herself up on one elbow causing the sheet to slip down drawing my eyes to her breasts. She harrumphs and pulls the sheet up.

"What was he doing - in the pictures?"

"Nothing kinky. It's who else is in the pictures that's significant. Clint ID'd Ferguson, Roach and McDaniel. He's running facial recognition on the rest but won't have the results for a while. Conran knows some of them. He and Dad are checking out the photos in the kitchen.

She flops back down, but a half smile graces her face. "So I was right. What mother-humpin-waste-of-skin wanted to make me the scapegoat?"

"I don't know but it sure looks that way. My desktop was clean." I give her a smug smile and sing song, "My security is better than yours." She sticks her tongue out just as Norah makes her displeasure known.

I stand up and Mary moves to get out of bed mumbling "She's wet."

"I'll change her. Just take care of you. Breakfast will be ready soon and unless my nose deceives me, _there will be_ _pancakes_ ," I intone stentoriously. "If you take too long they might be gone." It's dangerous to tease Mary about food but she's not fully awake.

"We'll see about that. Get Marty and Norah." She pushes me out the door. I turn and see her blonde hair disappear into the bathroom.

Marty is standing at Norah's crib talking to her. His attention isn't enough to halt her cries. I stoop to their level, looking them in the eyes. "Good morning Master Marty. Good morning Miss Norah. It's a **very** good morning," I tell them as I hoist Norah out of the play yard and take her to the dresser we're using as a changing table. Any morning that starts with these two is a great morning.

Marty's eyes aren't quite open but I enlist his help. "Marty, please get me a clean diaper." He spots the box and removes one lifting it up. "Thank you." I don't dare take my hand off Norah. Miss Wiggle Worm could easily roll off. I find a clean onesie and leggings and wrestle her into them and set her down on the carpet. She wobbles but stays upright.

"Your turn sport. Do you need to go to the bathroom?" He nods and toddles off. I get out underwear, a shirt, jeans and socks for him. When he returns I show him the outfit and help him out of his pajama top. It fit when I bought it but now the top is so snug he needs help. Good thing his airplane pants are loose. I hope our stay here is brief. He's going to need more clothes.

Despite the ominous circumstances that brought us here Mom is making the most of her time with the grandkids. Much to my surprise, so is Dad. If only we weren't the target of an unknown hit man this would be a real family vacation.

After breakfast and showers we gather round the kitchen table examining the faces in the photos. Mary finishes the breakfast dishes and sits down next to me. Mom took the kids to the living room which was still littered with blocks and cars.

"I know this guy." I point to a short man with stylishly spiked hair. "He came to Albuquerque with Pierson but I don't remember his name."

"Stan should be able to help us there." Mary advises. "He must have signed the visitor log. I made sure Pierson did." Mary would check on the director. In her world anyone who tries to enforce the rules damn well better follow them.

After I pointed out the spikey haired man, Mary stood, head down, back against the wall. I'd say she was thinking, but since it's Mary, scheming is more appropriate. After several moments her head snaps up. "We'll set a trap."

I study her. What is she planning? Mary's 'plans' are actually actions taken on the spur of the moment endangering herself and others.

"We will?" Dad and Conran look interested.

"Damn straight," Mary jerks her chin down. "And I know just how to do it."

She does?

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A/N: Thanks to all who are following this story. Reviews would be nice - hint.


	51. Busted!

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 51 – Busted

 _MARSHALL POV_

Mary thinks she's figured out who ordered the hit on her, me, us. She doesn't have any tangible proof, but her plan is to get the evidence. Since it's her plan, it involves considerable risk. Dad, Conran and I poke holes in it, propose changes and finally get Mary to agree. After we iron out the details we tell Mom. She listens, asks questions and finally agrees that we – that is Dad and Conran - should go ahead. Mom, Mary, the kids and I will stay here.

Before they leave Conran and I talk to Clint about what he needs to do to pull this off. It's risky tampering with the network, but Clint has access and the skills to make his manipulations look like routine patches and maintenance. Conran arranged the trip to the closest airport and gets them on a flight to DC.

All we have to do is wait.

 **U.S. Marshall headquarters, Washington DC, Pierson's office**

Conran had outfitted himself with a tiny lapel cam. If it works as advertised we will all witness the confrontation with Pierson. Because of the time difference, Mary, Mom and I get the kids to nap so we can watch the meeting. I hope the kids sleep though the whole thing, but I'll record it in any case. At the appointed time we gather around my laptop, with cocoa for Mary and coffee for Mom and me.

"Here we go." The camera goes live.

"Can he hear us?" Mary asks and I can tell Mom's wondering too.

"No. You can MST3K all you want." I expect blank stares but Mary and Mom both seem to know what that means.

We watch Dad and Conran present themselves to Pierson's aide who controls access to her office. We can't see Dad or Conran but we can see what they see – Mr. Aaron Bernheim, Mr. Spikey Hair. The guy tries to put them off, but Dad insists. He can be pretty damn scary. Pierson hears the hullabaloo and uses the intercom to ask Bernheim what's going on. Dad leans over the machine. "Director Pierson, we are retired US Marshals Mann and Fitz here to speak to you on an urgent matter."

"Marshall Mann?" Even the poor sound quality of the machine reflects her surprise.

Dad continues speaking into the intercom microphone. "No ma'am I'm Seth Mann, Marshall Mann's father. We have critical information regarding the Marshal Service."

"Come in," the tinny voice responds. Bernheim reluctantly opens the door where we see Pierson standing behind a large desk. She gives Conran the once over, but her gaze lingers on Dad. "Marshal Mann, my condolences on the loss of your son."

I raise my eyebrow and look at Mary. "News of my resurrection hasn't made it to DC." She shrugs. Interesting.

Dad corrects Pierson. "Retired marshal Director Pierson. Thanks for agreeing to see us. We're not here about my son."

Conran takes over and gets right to the point. "Director Pierson, Seth and I have found evidence of corruption and collusion in the AUSA's office that implicates the Marshal Service and you." She steps back, trying to maintain a poker face. "We became aware of this after your visit to Albuquerque."

She sits down and scrutinizes Conran. "And what exactly did you 'become aware' of - Mr. Fitz is it?"

"During the investigation into the bombing of Marshal Marshall Mann we uncovered a plan to black mail you."

She's quick to protest. "Nonsense! No one is black mailing me. I haven't done anything illegal, immoral or fattening," she jokes.

Conran is not amused. "You don't know it yet but you will be accused of illegal conduct. There is an incriminating document in a hidden file on that computer." We can see his finger pointing to her desktop machine. "If you will give us a minute, I can show you how to find it."

Pierson scoots back in her chair. It's the end of the day and her clean desk tells me she's ready to go home. I'm afraid she's going to send them packing, but her curiosity and self interest win. "This isn't some trick to get me to install a virus, is it?"

"No ma'am, absolutely not. What you'll be doing is a standard way of viewing hidden files – part of the operating system." I can tell when Pierson decides to go along. She follows Conran's directions, finds the file and opens the document. When she reads it her mask of polite indifference dissolves into anger.

"What kind of joke is this? Did you plant this?"

"No joke ma'am. If you have your techs look at it they should be able to backtrack it to the source. Give them a call." She hesitates, probably afraid that the file could be seen as real evidence against her.

She stops and thinks then finds a contact on her cell. "Yes, it's me. I need you to come to my office immediately. Yes, that means now. Just put down the bagel and get your ass over here."

She hangs up and startles at the slap of photos on her desk. "What's this?"

Conran points to the stack. "More evidence."

She picks them up and shuffles through them one by one. "Are these on my computer too?"

I hear Dad cough, the only sound he's made since they got into the office. "No, but you'll see why you should be concerned."

I had printed out this set of the pictures without names or other identifiers. Pierson shuffles through them stopping at one, taking it out of the pile and holding it up. She lays it on the desk. The next one catches her eye. I don't have to see it to know it's the one with her boy wonder outside the door. Her eyebrows rise.

"These have been photoshopped?" Her voice is sharp, accusatory, and I can't blame her for hoping it's not true. She's beginning to see how serious this is, what a threat it poses to her career. All Dad cares about is the reputation of the Marshal Service. All I care about is Mary and the kids safety. All Pierson cares about is herself.

"Not that we can tell without a lab. I _can_ tell you the pixels match up." Conran assures her.

There's a knock on the door and the tech arrives. Dad and Seth move to the visitor chairs which gives us a clear view of Pierson's desk. She scoops up the photos and lets the tech sit in her chair. It takes a few minutes for him to examine the metadata to determine the routing information on the document. I can tell he's double and triple checking his results because I see him repeating the same keystrokes. He shakes his head and then whispers in Pierson's ear. She's visibly shaken. She nods and dismisses the tech with a thank you and a threat to keep this to himself. He nods.

Mary huffed. "Wonder what she has on him? He's got to get something out of this. She's not the type to inspire loyalty." I have to agree.

After the tech leaves she holds up the photo with Mr. Spikey Hair. "Where was this taken? When was this taken?" Her voice trembles.

"We don't know ma'am. We do know some of the people." Conran gets up and points. "That's Ferguson, the AUSA in New Mexico, this is Randy Fetwell who's mentioned in the document on your computer." He sorts through the photos. "These two are Stephen Roach and Harmon McDaniel who are supposed to be smugglers but the Border Patrol and the FBI suspect them of human trafficking."

Pierson drops her head, her tone soft, confused. "I can't believe Aaron is mixed up with them. He's been with me for years. Why would he do this?"

I hear Dad's gravelly voice issuing more of a command than a suggestion. "Why don't you ask him?"

She thinks about it for a few moments then pulls out her center desk drawer. She swivels her chair to face the wall and makes a call.

"I'll bet she's calling building security." Mary whispers. "One of the few smart things I've seen her do."

Facing Dad and Conran Pierson toggles the intercom, folds her hands and in an calm even voice asks, "Aaron, are you still there?" We don't hear it but the reply must be positive. "Please join us."

Sound proofing must be better in those offices. If Aaron had been listening he'd be long gone.

I had wondered about Dad's actions outside Pierson's office. "Maybe Dad turned off the intercom function on his desk phone. That would explain why I saw Dad's hand on the speakerphone when he leaned over to speak to Pierson."

"Didn't know your old man could be so sneaky," Mary approved.

Bright eyed and spikey haired, Aaron opens the door and comes in standing between Dad and the desk. Conran turns so I can see Dad move to block the door. I didn't see any other doors in the office so there's no way he's getting out.

"Aaron, these two marshals have brought some interesting photos." She holds up one and asks. "Do you know where this was taken?" I can't tell for certain but I bet it's the one with Aaron's face clearly on display.

Bernhiem swallows, but plays dumb. He squints. "Hmm, let me see." He steps closer. The camera jumps as Conran braces himself for action. Pierson slides it across the desk. He picks it up. "Looks like a bunch of people at a conference, lobbyists maybe?"

"He's nervous. We got him," Mary crows.

"Isn't that you on the right?" Pierson asks calmly. "I remember when you got that suit. It's hand tailored. It fits you perfectly. It's very impressive, especially on your salary."

Bernhiem's not ready to give it up. "Ah no. It looks sort of like me, but I'm not the only one with that style of suit."

Pierson's expression says she thinks otherwise. She stretches out her hand pointing to a detail on the photo. "What about the watch he's wearing? Isn't that a Rado Centrix identical to the one your 'grandparents' gave you?"

"You go girl! She's done playing games," Mary chuckles.

Bernhiem swivels quickly, runs to the door not expecting the old man to block his escape. We can see his grim determination as he puts his head down to knock Dad aside. Mary giggles, "Like that's gonna work." Dad's ready for him. Years of arresting fugitives make his actions smooth, almost choreographed as he steps aside and locks on Aaron's elbow. The camera and Conran stay perfectly still. Dad doesn't want help. Unable to move without increasing the painful hold, Aaron starts hollering.

"That's not me. It's a fake. You know me Allison. Would I betray you?" He's wriggling like a fish on a hook, trying and failing to escape Dad.

Pierson raises her voice. "That is the question isn't it? I know loyalty can be bought, and I know you are ambitious. I will have the photo checked, but you know Aaron, an innocent man wouldn't run."

"Like hell he wouldn't. I know how this place works." He grunts as Dad increases the pressure.

Pierson must have triggered an alarm because we hear the door open. Conran turns so we can see two burly US Marshal's enter. Pierson does the honors. "Aaron Bernheim you are under arrest for consorting with known felons to subvert this office."

Bernheim has a lot to say. "You'll never prove anything. It wasn't me. You're still going to jail for agreeing to take a cut of Fetwell's profits." Conran, Dad and Pierson exchange a knowing look. No one had mentioned Fetwell. Good thing I'm recording this exchange.

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A/N: That's part of the mystery solved, but nothing's ever straightforward. Will it be safe enough for Mary and the Manns to go home? Stay tuned. Thanks Meg for the review.


	52. The End is in Sight

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 52 – The End is in Sight

MARSHALL POV

After we watched the marshals frog march Bernheim out of the office the laptop screen went black. I couldn't tell if Conran had turned the camera off or if the battery died. I certainly thought it was better if Pierson didn't know we were watching.

The wait for news of what happened next seemed interminable. The kids woke up, chased each other and us around the couch and played with their trains. Mom and Mary made dinner.

"Mary!" Mom's voice was sharp. Mary was on the verge of doing a face plant into her macaroni.

"Huh?" Mary jerked awake. She looked around surprised at her surroundings. The kids were batting the table with their carrot sticks and didn't notice. I'd been watching Norah copy Marty's batting swing and missed Mary's drooping eyelids.

"C'mon Sweetheart. Bedtime for you." I scoot her chair away from the table and take her arm.

"Oh all right."

"You're just saying that because you love me." Mary's fun to tease, especially when the probability of retaliation is low.

"Don't push it Doofus." That's all she's got? We shuffle down the hall and she drops down on the bed and flops back. I remove her boots and put her legs on the bed.

"Sweet dreams. I'll join you soon my love." I lean over to hear her mumble something incomprehensible. I kiss her cheek as I pull the covers over her.

I'm bathing the kids when my burner phone rings. Mom heard the phone and came into the bathroom. Hands full of bubbles I pointed my elbow to my back pocket with the phone.

"Dad?" I guessed moving my head quickly to avoid a mouthful of bubbles.

"Oh Seth. Thank goodness. Are you and Connie okay?" He must have replied, but I was fully occupied trying to keep two slippery bodies from diving into the edge of the tub. Mom took the phone and left me to fend for myself.

I scoop up a handful of bubbles and threaten the two bathtime miscreants. "I'm gonna get you!" They squeal and I reach around them to open the drain and start the rinse cycle.

Mom kneels and joins me on the bath mat. "Your father said to call him when you're free and that it's okay to use the same phone." If he's not concerned with the burner being traced, things must have gone well. I'm anxious to hear what happened but the kids come first.

Mom and I double teamed the kids. She takes Marty and I wrestle Norah into a clean diaper and a white fuzzy sleeper with pink hearts. _Wonder who bought that._ _Mary's not the hearts and flowers type_. We get them in bed and Mom takes over story time while I call Dad.

He answers immediately. "Where are you? Is it really okay to call using the same phone?"

"It's safe. Conran got a scrambler or some such thing. Says not to worry." Then he proceeds to fill in the blanks.

Bernheim had been charged with threatening a federal official – for starters. Once the Attorney General gets involved other charges will be brought. Pierson was in the clear although her files, and Ferguson's were being examined as well as the entire DoJ network. Dad didn't say, but I'll bet Clint is the one scrubbing the network. While waiting for my call Dad had talked to Stan and filled him in on the DC doings.

I had just hung up with Dad when Stan called. Ferguson is under arrest. He faces child pornography charges and a slew of other federal crimes. Stan asked when we'd be coming back to Albuquerque. I told him it wasn't a decision I could make alone. He understood. He asked about the kids and I told him they didn't seem to mind staying inside but were definitely starting to act like siblings. "That's good, right?" Stan asked. I assured him it was.

After we hung up I remembered a time Norah had been wrestling Marty for his train engine. Mary scooped her up gently reminding her that it was Marty's train and that her train was "right over there." I had to laugh when Norah gave Mary her very own WTF glare. She understood all right, she just didn't like it. Mary scolded me for encouraging her by laughing.

I had enjoyed our time together but the layer of worry, hell the out and out fear, that gripped me every time a car backfired, every time the phone rang, every time Norah, the kids or Mom were out of my sight drained me. Mary accused me of spying. Nothing could be further from the truth, I protested that I didn't watch her in the bathroom! _I listened!_ There's a difference between caring and stalking! She rolled her eyes, unconvinced but she let it go.

I check on Mary who is still sound asleep. We had slept in the same bed every night but neither of us got much rest, and not because we were intimate. We'd both been in witness transport mode since leaving Albuquerque. The pregnancy zaps Mary's energy and she needs REM sleep. Sleep she's not getting with one eye open all night. Now that her trap had caught the rats responsible for targeting her, she could sleep. I couldn't. What if Ferguson had hired another hitman? What if that hitman was still after her?

After giving Mom Dad and Stan's news I call Conran. He said all three of them were tapping every agency every informer they knew to assess the level of threat against Mary. We can't leave this sanctuary if someone is still after her.

I went to bed after talking to Conran. Mary didn't even bat an eyelash when I spooned her. She was still sleeping soundly when my burner buzzed. Not wanting to wake Mary, I slipped out of bed and into the hall. It was Eleanor and she had found a murder for hire site on the dark web. The description of the target fit Mary although her name wasn't used. Eleanor had alerted Clint and he and the cyber spooks traced it back to one of Ferguson's two henchmen. The site was taken down and the henchmen – one muscle, one geek – are under arrest. The other posts on that site will keep the cybercrime guys busy for months.

The kids aren't awake, but I hear Mom in the kitchen. I sit, making the bed bounce and gently put my hand on Mary's shoulder. "Wakey wakey Sunshine. You'll never sleep tonight if you spend all day and all night sleeping."

"What time is it?" Mary asks groggily.

"Time for little girls to wake up and smell the pancakes." I feel privileged to watch her. Her natural beauty is enhanced by the glow of pregnancy.

Mary squints and grimaces, unamused. "It's 8:30," I tell her.

"PM or AM?"

"AM. A lots happened while you were in la-la land. It's time to click your heels and say there's no place like home."

Mary lifts herself up on one elbow. Her hair falls over one eye remindeing me of the old time film star, Veronica Lake.

"Do you think it's safe to go home?" I've never heard her so coherent after being awakened. It shows how worried she is.

"Not yet, but I think it will be soon."

The kids are still asleep. Mary scampers to the bathroom. When she returns we sit side by side on the bed, our bed, even if it is borrowed.

"So," Mary clears her throat and focuses on my face wanting reassurance but needing the truth even more. "Tell me. What did Seth say?"

"Short version or long?"

Never one to compromise Mary insists, "Both."

"Oookay."

"Short version, Bernhiem and Ferguson are under arrest. Fetwell is being taken down by ABQPD today. Roach and McDaniels are in the wind. The solicitation for your murder is off the web."

Mary sits for a moment, staring off into space, digesting the news. "Long version?"

"Mr. Aaron Spikey Hair sang like a canary. Unfortunately, although he admitted the photo was taken in the party room of Knockouts . . . ."

She interrupts. "The strip club in Albuquerque?"

I nod yes. "He couldn't name the men with him. He was only in Albuquerque a short time and Ferguson didn't introduce him to everyone." _It would have been nice if they had worn name tags._

"Bernheim did know that Tippy had ordered Ferguson to have you killed. I just got in the way." _Dumb twit seemed to think this was just normal Washington politics._ "He thought the gun smuggling plot was faked to discredit Pierson. It was, but it wasn't fake. He didn't know Fetwell was a real person, an actual gun runner. He'd never heard of Roach or McDaniel and couldn't pick them out of a series of mug shots. He claims he never met them."

"What about Stan? What's happening on the home front?" Mary needs all the facts to determine if it's safe for Norah-bug to be sleeping in her own bed.

"The marshals got to Ferguson's office before he flew the coop. The CSI guys sent me photos of his laptop. He had pried it open with a **can opener** , extracted what he thought was the hard drive and was trying to burn it in his trash can. The marshals who arrested him were able to stop the optical drive from being destroyed. The hard drive was untouched. If the marshals hadn't come to his office the fire department would have."

"As for Fetwell, he operates out of Albuquerque. When Stan talked to ABQPD they told him that they, specifically Abigail, had been tracking him for months. The leads we give them combined with what they already have should be enough to bring him in. They still need to dig up more evidence. Literally." I smirk. "Fetwell had keys to several mausoleums with enough space to store cases of weapons." _Did Conran know the cemetery chosen for my internment was used to transfer weapons?_

"Eleanor found the website soliciting your murder and the cyberspooks took it down. They arrested the two goons running it who have ties to Tippy and Ferguson. So, yes. unless something else comes up, I think it's safe to go back to Albuquerque."

I expected a heart felt hug of relief. What I got were more questions. "What was Tippy's beef with me?"

I look at my tousled hair beauty and sigh. "Tippy Boswell had a hard on for you since the first time he worked with us." Sometimes it feels like the entire male population lusts after my partner. Of course there was a time when the situation was reversed.

"What's with the goofy smile?" Really Mare? You always think my smile is goofy.

"Remember that case on the Reservation? Remember the American Indian officer?"

"Oh yeah. My lady parts are still twinging. They ached for weeks after riding that bang tail. That officer had a thing for you big time. It was downright disgusting, like high school only worse."

"Yes," I reply wistfully. "She was sweet." Mary groans.

I turn to see her face. "I was glad you got to experience someone make a pass at your partner."

"Yeah, I could tell it did wonders for your ego." Mary's mouth purses in distaste.

"Ah well that's all in the past. Now that I'm no longer engaged I don't attract that kind of attention. I seem to have lost whatever allure I had." As long as Mary is still attracted to me I could care less.

Mary nudges my shoulder with hers. "You Doofus! You still go it. The women still _appreciate_ you, but they backoff when I give them my best stink eye." She shakes her head and turns away. "I can't believe you haven't noticed."

"Ah, Sunshine," I cradle her cheek and gaze into her eyes. "I'm so besotted with you other women don't even register on my radar"

"Don't say besotted. And you damn well better not flirt. Not if you expect to father any more children."

"Flirt? Moi?" My brain finally catches up with her last statement. More children?

"Mare? Would you consider having **another** baby? A baby after this one?"

Mary has the look she gets when her mouth outpaces her brain. She looks up sheepishly. "Let's just get this one hatched. Then we can talk."

We can? Not only is this pregnancy going well – so far – she'd actually consider doing it one more time? Is this really my partner talking or her pregnancy hormones? Should I get Finkel to check her out? It's probably hormones.

"You know I see men giving you the once over all the time. You are a strong beautiful woman." I lean over and kiss her blushing cheek. Mary's adorable when she goes all shy. I never thought I'd see her like this.

Mary shrugs off the kiss to compose herself. "You were going to explain why Tippy decided on me for target practice."

 _Oh, yeah. Tippy_. "When you mocked him, calling his attempt to ask you out lame, he was angry. Didn't he threaten to have you prosecuted for not complying with the Americans With Disabilities Act?"

Mary laughs. "I thought he was joking! It wasn't very funny, but I laughed."

"That didn't help, Mare. You humiliated him. His lust turned to hate. Honestly I was surprised that you didn't tell him he was hired to meet some sort of ADA quota."

She gives me a look that asks if I'm kidding. "So you and I caught Tippy leaking WITSEC information. I'm sure that didn't sit well. How did we miss his other criminal activities?"

"He kept a close eye on the gun smuggling and human trafficking stuff but was very careful. Never used a DoJ computer or phone. Didn't keep any records at his place or his office. He had everything stored off site with a security system."

"You mean one of those self storage places?"

"Yup. They found it by going through his financials. He blackmailed Ferguson from prison. His henchmen had photos of Ferguson having sex with children they took from Tippy's storage space." The thought of the abuse those children suffered makes me want to hurl.

"Those children could be the ones who had been separated from the parents while crossing the border. Weren't McDaniel's coyotes instructed to do that?" she asks. I nod. "Pedophiles are lower than mother-humping scum." She sighs. "So, there **was** more than one bad apple in the AUSAs office? Wonder what other worms will crawl out? If I get a hold of Ferguson I will cut off his balls and Bobbitt him." _Yup, partner. Exactly what I had in mind._ She halts and swallows hoping to foil the nausea caused by Ferguson. "What about Roach and McDaniel?"

"Roach – _totally appropriate name for that sack of excrement -_ he and McDaniel are in the wind. The cybersquad is scouring Ferguson's computer, tablets and phones for leads. Ferguson admitted that he met with them regularly. They got the money or guns and Ferguson got the children."

"What happened to the kids?"

"I don't know. Homeland Security and the FBI are working on it, starting with the ones whose parents turned themselves in. They're trying to identify the children in the photos with Ferguson."

Mary sighs sadly. "Is there a way we could help? Find the kids, I mean."

"I dunno Mare. I'll ask. Maybe Conran knows."

Mom expects Dad and Conran to be back in time for dinner tonight. Time to start packing? It will be good to get back home, except which home? I'm not ready to live alone without Mary and my Norah bean.

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A/N: Thanks Jojo78 for the read through. All remaining mistakes are mine. Yes, after over a year this story is winding down. The remaining chapters have yet to be written, so if there's anything you'd like to see addressed, let me know. I have no idea if you can open a laptop with a can opener. Don't try this at home!


	53. Marshall's Musings

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 53 – Marshall's Musings

MARSHALL POV

Despite continued assurances from Dad and Stan that we are no longer in danger I can't sleep. I hear the bedroom door being pushed open. A little person casts a long shadow in the moonlight. "Hey Cowboy," I whisper. "What are you doing awake?" I get my hand out from under the covers and feel Marty's forehead. Hot. Just as I feared. He hadn't eaten dinner and had been lethargic all afternoon. I pick him up and take him to the bathroom. Sitting on the counter he dutifully drinks the thimbleful of cherry liquid.

"Hey buddy, how about some cuddle time? Just you and me?" He nods sleepily. I carry him to the living room plop down in my leather recliner and pull the throw over us. A little gentle rocking and his breathing evens out. Poor kid, it's been a rough day, a rough year.

Dana's death hit him hard, and affected me more than I would have thought. We each grieved in our own way and I let him know that it was okay to miss his mom and it's okay to cry. We talked about her, and one night we watched the video she had made. I couldn't hold back my own tears when he reached for the screen. I can never take her place but I am determined to put Marty first, and fuck the job.

Grandma and Grandpa helped fill the void. Marty didn't know what to make of the old folks. He wasn't used to having a dad, let alone a grand dad. Mom gave him space and let him come to her. Eventually he accepted Dad, especially after Dad gave him horseyback rides. I can't wait to teach him to ride a real horse. Norah and Mary helped too. He is fascinated by the bold little girl. He accepted Mary as a mom, even though she wasn't his mom. Maybe he figured Norah and Mary were a package deal?

Lots of big changes for a little guy. Big changes for me too. A few months ago I was happily engaged and planning a wedding. I was certain I would spend the rest of my life with the woman I loved. Until she dumped me when she discovered I had a son. Abigail was supposed to be the love of my life. How could she reject me? How could she change her mind so quickly after all the promises she had made, all the plans, all the dreams?

Hmph. Dreams. She never told me she dreamed of being Chief of Detectives in a big police department. I thought I knew her. The sex was great, tender, loving. We liked the same things. At least I thought we did. I wonder how many times Abigail gritted her teeth and pretended. She mocked my Christmas present wrapping. I thought she was teasing but she probably thought I was stupid to spend so much time selecting paper and ribbons.

I came so close to being saddled with a woman I didn't know. We may have had some interests in common, but when it came to values, to what we hold dear we were miles apart. I can't understand why she couldn't accept Marty. She wanted children. Marty's a child, my child, why didn't she want him?

Mary had changed a lot too. My best friend consoled me when Abigail left. She loves Marty. The fact that he adores her daughter doesn't hurt. I can't believe she loves me. Did the fact that I was ready to marry another make her realize the place I had in her heart?

I thought I had moved on from Mary. I thought I had no caring emotion left after Abigail. How wrong I was. When Mary was shot at Donny's I was scared to death. Thank God she listened to me and wore a vest. Thank God it was a small caliber gun. Kneeling over her in that dingy apartment I knew no one could ever take her place. She will always be the love of my life. Even that injury had an upside. When they were checking her out she learned that she was pregnant. Pregnant with my child.

It took her a while to believe she really was pregnant and even longer before she told me. She thought she took advantage of me that night? That's not the way I remember it. After the bombing I started remembering. It wasn't the ideal romantic first encounter, not the way I would choose to reveal my love. It was sweaty, desperately passionate and incredibly hot. I remember her whispering graphic endearments in my ear. I remember her whole hearted, hell whole bodied response. It was so far beyond sex it must be love.

How could Mary think she was wrong for me? Why would she put me, her nerdy geeky partner, on a pedestal? While I tend to be more by the book, I've done plenty wrong. Just ask Dad. I should have pursued Mary more diligently. She alone knew my trivia persona and my bad ass side. I came to know her compassionate side – which she hid and denied.

Mary as a mother is totally different from Inspector Shannon. While she's capable of doling out tough love, she usually outsmarts our toddlers. She knows how they think and diverts them from anything dangerous befpre they even know it exists. Pregnancy has changed her too. When she was pregnant with Norah I told her that if she was pregnant, we were pregnant, but she ended up doing almost everything alone. This time she's glad to have Daddy Doofus by her side, and I'm excited and honored to be there.

At her last OB appointment we got the baby's size and developmental stage. Mary's blood pressure was the high side of normal, but still normal. I can imagine how cranky she'd be if she had to be on bed rest for the next few months. Now that she's at Regional Headquarters I only have to endure her grouchiness at home. But bed rest would raise her grouchiness to a whole other level.

It's been a year of changes professionally too. Becoming Chief Inspector turned out to be more work than I thought. I have a new appreciation of Stan, the work he did and how easy he made it seem. He kept the bean counters at bay for years. They had reduced the office to just the 3 of us, but before Stan left he had built it back to 7 Inspectors, an administrative aide and a financial analyst. The analyst is supposedly temporary, but Francine likes Albuquerque and is campaigning to stay. I hope she does. Sitting in Stan's office gave me a clear view of Mary's desk. I figured Stan wanted to keep an eye on our trouble magnet. After Abigail left I realized he probably just enjoyed the view. I certainly did. Even with some baby weight Mary is a very attractive woman.

We'd been back at work for less then a week when I saw her answer her desk phone. After greeting her caller her face blanched. I suspected morning sickness but when she gingerly placed the receiver in its cradle I knew something unusual had happened. Did someone die? One of her witnesses, her family?

Mary looked up and caught me watching. I quirked an eyebrow and she slowly rose from her desk. As she got closer I waved her in. She walked in slowly placing one booted foot in front of the other.

"Mary, what's wrong?"

She dropped into a visitor chair with a thump. I've never seen her this rattled – not even in the middle of a gun fight. Oh God. Was it her OB? Is something wrong with the baby?

Mary put her elbows on her knees, a position she wouldn't be able to maintain in a few more weeks. Her blonde hair hangs down adding to her hang dog expression. "I got it," she croaks without looking up.

Got what? High blood pressure? A disease? What could she have gotten over a phone call? Enlightenment dawned. "You got the position at Regional Headquarters?"

"Yeah." Her face was blank, frozen.

"Mare? Isn't that a good thing?" It's a very good thing for us. We won't have to worry that our relationship will jeapordize either of our careers. Why is she so scared?

She sits up. "I suppose. I'm just . . . . I thought I bombed the panel interview. I hadn't prepared anything, I just . . . talked." She stopped, considering. "Except I didn't swear much."

No preparation? Was she trying to sabotage herself? "You know Sunshine, you've already purged expletives from your vocabulary because you don't want to hear them from Norah and Marty. You probably used the same language during the interview."

Mary shook her head. "I said some things about Pierson I shouldn't have. I raked ABQPD over the coals for letting Fetwell get away and pointed out that if it wasn't for the marshals he'd still be at large. That's not exactly playing well with others, Marsh."

"No but it demonstrates good judgement. You were right to criticize the local PD. They - _actually_ _Abigail_ – dropped the ball. Did you tell them how you would have run the operation?"

She nods. "So why wouldn't they choose you? You know how things work, how they can go wrong and what should be done."

She straightens and looks at me for the first time. "You think they made the right choice?"

"I know they did. Don't get me wrong this office will be worse off without you. We will miss your expertise, but we'll limp along." Relieved that the news is good, I sit back and tilt my chair, my hands folded in front of my chest. "Charlie is developing some self-preservation instincts and Delia is good with the witnesses. The Phoenix marshals are holding their own."

There's a twinkle in her eye when she says, "You'll miss my expert tease?"

I duck my head. This woman can make me blush even now. I wink. "But you can give me that at home." She full on smiles.

Her smile wanes. "It's just that I never get what I'm hoping for, what I really want. Getting this job, you, the kids – it's everything I ever wanted but never thought I would have."

"And you're afraid it will fall through." The phrase too good to be true comes to mind.

"Or I'll do something stupid and blitz it all."

"You won't. If you're feeling unsettled or uncertain talk to me. We'll figure it out. Haven't I always given you what you need?"

"Yeah." She admits and swallows. "Okay."

As Chief I couldn't work with Mary even if she stayed in WITSEC but I have to admit the office is less effective, less interesting without her. I suspect she's on the regional review board but she can't tell me. Just as I can't tell her how her former witnesses are doing.

With the kids and a baby on the way, it's surprisingly easy not to talk about work. My Inspectors and a few people from Regional Headquarters insisted on throwing us a baby shower! They held it at Jinx's dance studio with Joanna's help. Mom insisted on coming and she got Dad to make the trip too. Good thing. I wasn't looking forward to being the only man in attendance. Mary insisted that if she had to go I had to be there. A few other men, husbands, boyfriends and marshals, came and helped set up. Now that she's seven months along, her hormones are running the show. She actually hugged Delia and thanked her for the shower!

I must have fallen asleep because I didn't hear Mary approach. "How's he doing?" Mary brushes her fingers through Marty's hair.

"He's got a fever, but he cries if I try to put him down." Mary leaves, returning with the forehead thermometer, and Tylenol.

She lays the thermometer on his forehead. "101."

"I gave him some about 6 hours ago. He needs another dose."

I turn Marty so his back is to my front and hold his limp body to mine. "C'mon Marty. This will make you feel better. That's right." He opens his mouth and Mary empties the tiny cup. "What a good boy."

Mary takes the cup and returns with a cool washcloth. We wipe down his face and neck. I pull the blanket back up.

"Aren't you coming to bed? Baby bean and I are cold without you."

"No, I'll stay here with him."

"Bring him to our bed. He can sleep between us. There's room and we can keep an eye on his temperature."

"You sure?" Mary and I have been living together since she left WITSEC, but there are a lot of situations we haven't encountered. This is one of them.

"Of course, Doofus. Bring Junior and come to bed."

I yawn and get up, holding Marty close.

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A/N: This story is winding down but I've got another one percolating. Next chapter should be the epilogue I envisioned when I started this story over a year ago! Thanks to everyone who has followed this story despite my erratic posting.


	54. Epilogue

Disclaimer: Mary and Marshall belong to David Maples. If they hadn't been misused by others I wouldn't be writing this.

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Sonn of Mann – Chapter 54 – Epilogue

MARY POV

I put it off as long as possible but when I can't fit behind my desk it's time to start maternity leave. I can't relax on this first day off though. Oh no. No rest for the wicked. Today is a teacher in service something or other, so I have both little darlings all day. Joanna had done her time and was released once the kids started preschool. Marty and Norah are good kids, mostly. I shouldn't complain, and I'd better get used to it. They're going to be around for another 18 years.

Yesterday I left in a rush of farewells and good wishes after spending the day writing opinions on my open cases. I left my list of questions for the OB in my desk. Damn pregnant brain. Damn swollen feet and indigestion while we're at it. I extract the kids from the minivan at the Pete V. Domenici court house and we go up the stairs through the public entrance. The marshals guarding the lobby give us a nod and wave at the kids.

With the kids contained in the elevator I have a minute to think. Despite the nonchalant front I put on for Marshall I'm scared. Norah came too early and too quickly. I, or I should say we, go to the OB every week now. Marshall insists on coming with me. Having my own personal doctor speak translator isn't so bad. I thank God that Norah is a normal healthy if incredibly stubborn little girl. The terrible twos have arrived and if I thought some of my more obtuse witnesses tried my patience they are no match for little miss who knows just what buttons to push! But that's totally normal. I'm looking forward to having the house to myself when they're both at school. Especially now when mini-Doofus keeps me awake all night.

It's nice to have Marshall cook and make sure baby bean and I get our vegetables and protein. No cereal for dinner this time around. He's a damn good cook too. He claims he learned it all from his mother but I've seen him watching the Food Network. If he didn't have to pander to my picky pregnant pallet and that of the kids he'd be off to the Cordon Bleu. Look out Julia Child!

The elevator doors open and I let the kids skip down the empty hall to my office. Entering the reception area outside my office we hear, "What are you doing here?"

"Good to see you too Sherry," I greet our secretary-administrative-aide-analyst-whatever as I sort through my mail. Norah and Marty's heads are swiveling as they take in the sights. This is their first visit. Relieved that there's nothing I need to deal with I bend down as far as the bean permits. "Do you guys remember Sherry?" The kids met her at the baby shower. I suspect she and Delia hatched the whole thing.

Both kids nod. "I've got to get something from my office. Can you stay with her?" I look at Sherry who smiles her okay. Marty gives her the once over and nods. I tap Norah's nose to get her attention. "Be good. I'll be quick, I promise." My office has a desk, a chair, a small bookshelf, a desktop computer and a window with a view of the Sandias. I find my desk key and open the center drawer. There. The stupid list. Might as well make sure I haven't forgotten anything else.

Gazing out the window I recall my first day. I thought for sure it was a mistake and someone would come to haul me out of here for impersonating a review board member. Chief Greg Tallson, who doesn't appear on any government org chart I could find, filled me in on the job, and presented me with the Review Board's Procedures. Wasn't it enough that I know the Marshal's Manual inside and out? Guess not. I took it with a smile. I can learn it like I learned the Marshal's Manual – sitting in the nursery waiting for baby bean's next feeding, diaper change or gas attack.

In one sense at least my dream has come true - my office has its own thermostat! Despite the chilly temperature I set this summer no one ever called me an a/c hog. They know better than to mess with a pregnant woman.

I was straight with them from the beginning about being pregnant. Didn't seem to matter. Wonder who's twisting their nuts? I am the only woman on the review board. Maybe they don't know how to act? Whatever. Despite being stuck in the office most of the time the work is interesting. I read the after action reports carefully filling in the blanks, the stuff that was left out. I know what to ask to confirm or explain the missing pieces. I like solving other people's problems and telling them what to do, or what they should have done.

It's too quiet out there. What are my ankle biters doing? I get nervous when they are out of my sight. Sherry's never watched them before and they can be sneaky. I open the door slowly hoping to catch them in the act. The kids are smiling, holding up circles they are trying to stick on one another. Where did Sherry get them? Wait aren't those the ones she uses to color code files? Smart. Bug looks like she has Christmas measles with red and green dots on her face and hands. Marty is all manly in blue and green. "Hey you two. Having fun?"

"Blue" Norah replies pointing to a blue spot on Marty's shirt.

"You got that right. And this is?" I point to a green one.

"Geen" she shouts. Hmm. Marshall's been working on colors, but she's only this loud when she's hungry. Marty raises his voice to be heard over Norah and is pointing to one of his spots. "Blue, this is blue."

"Yes, that is blue," I assure him. "You two ready for lunch?" They both yell "Yeah." Of course they're hungry. They are bottomless pits. "Let's go. We're meeting Daddy for lunch." I bustle them out of the office and wave to Sherry. "See you in a couple of months."

Messenger/diaper bag over my shoulder, kids and hats and sweaters in all the right places, I let the kids push the big glass door to the outside. They like taking the steps, and since there's a handrail I'm okay with it. Not being able to see my feet is the pits. I've barely started down when I hear my name.

"Mary?"

I make sure Norah is holding my hand and Marty is holding hers before I stop and look at the woman in front of me, Abigail Chaffee. Damn Abigail - she can see her feet. But that's the only thing about her I envy. "Yes, it's me behind the beach ball." I pull my sweater over my burgeoning belly. "How have you been detective?"

I really don't want to know but I'm determined to be polite just to throw her off her game.

"Uh, fine. I didn't realize . . . ." She gestures toward my stomach. "Umm" she blinks. "When are you due?" Of course she has to ask.

"The doc says next month but it could be next week. We'll see. Baby bean here is bound to be stubborn. Both his parents are." Yes, yes. I can see you counting the months. When the skin around her eyes tightens, I know she's figured the dates. _Take that bitch_. I hope she stays up nights wondering if Marshall and I had sex before she dumped him. Even though that puts Marshall in the wrong it makes my day.

I know she's dying to ask for details. Does she know Mark is out of the picture? She must have heard the gossip by now. Maybe she doesn't believe I'm with Marshall? I pretend to clip Norah's hair into her barrette using my left hand. The one with the plain gold wedding band. Abigail's eyes grow large. Ooooh this feels good.

"You're married? I hadn't heard." What she really means is ' _Why wasn't I invited?_ ' Guess her office doesn't have a water cooler. I've come to appreciate Delia for keeping Marshall and me in the loop.

I shrug and check to make sure Marty and Norah are still attached. "It wasn't a big deal. Just close friends and family. Y'know." I duck my head secretly celebrating the fact that I had just put Miss Southern Fried Avon Lady Detective in her place. She's no friend, and certainly not family. She gave up her chance for that.

She thought Marshall wanted a big floofy wedding. Marshall wanted his folks, his brother's families and origami roses. And those birds. A thousand of those origami cranes because he said his wish had already come true. He even had some of his Inspectors making them. I did miss Brandi on our big day. Speaking of big, this beach ball was another reason I wanted a small wedding. I didn't feel comfortable in a white satin tent and found a maternity pant suit that let me wear my boots so Marshall could wear his. I smile thinking that the only thing missing was the shot gun.

While I was taking my trip down memory lane, Abigail asked me a question. Time to play the pregnancy card.

"What was that? I'm sort of distracted these days. You know keeping up with these two and this." I gesture toward my stomach making sure she doesn't see it as an invitation to touch.

Abigail finally looks at Marty and Norah. "Wow, they've gotten so big." Marty is being extra sweet to Norah, trying to do finger plays with their hands. Norah's more interested in glaring at Abigail. That's my girl!

"Growing like weeds." I swing Norah's hand. She's bored. Take a number bug, so am I. "She's 2 and Marty is 4." Marty tugs at Norah's hand ready to go. They both stare at Abigail, which I am tickled to see, makes her nervous. Wonder if Marty remembers her? I'm waiting for her to ask about Marshall. I'm not going to make it easy on her. Does she really not know we're married?

"So what are you doing at the court house?" I ask her before she can question me.

"Oh," Abigail gets back on the professional track. "I'll be testifying in the Fetwell case and have an appointment with the prosecutor."

"Fetwell, Fetwell," I tilt my head back and pretend to search my memory. "Is that the gun smuggler ABQPD spent a ton of man-hours following only to lose him when they got enough evidence to arrest him? I do remember that the marshals brought him in. That Fetwell?"

Ooops. I pushed her too far. She's gone past embarrassed to angry. That's okay. The sooner she's out of my sight the better. "Well don't let us hold you up." I gather my troops and take the last two steps. "Good bye Abigail." And good riddance! "C'mon kids, lets go meet Daddy!"

We meet Marshall at the Owl Café. I've been craving their chocolate red chili milkshakes. Marshall likes their Granny Smith apple pie. The kids' menu is decent. We're settled in a booth and the kids are flipping the selection pages of the miniature jukebox at our table.

A waitress in a vintage 50's apron and hat comes and takes our orders. Marshall and I have our hands full with just one kid each. How are we going to manage three?

Marshall still rents a room in my mind. "Calm down Mare. We'll do just fine with another one. At first they sleep a lot."

I glare at him. I only remember the sleepless nights of colic with Norah. He gets to do the honors this time. I breath out and let my shoulders drop. "Guess who I saw today?"

"You went to the courthouse so I assume you saw Sherry. Who else? Was it one of the AUSAs?"

"No," I shake my head and look away making sure Marty isn't sticking his fingers in the mini jukebox thing.

Marshall rubs his chin then looks me in the eye. "Abigail."

"Ding ding, give the man a prize. She was going into the courthouse when we were leaving."

Marshall chuckles. "Wish I could have been there."

"It was awkward, but you'd be proud of me. I was civil."

He grins. "Of course you were. That's just the kind of head game you specialize in."

I smirk. "Yup."

"What did you tell her?"

"Not much." I use my left hand to push my hair back. His eyes track my hand.

"Ah, you made sure she saw your wedding ring."

I smile and nod smugly.

"Did she seem surprised?"

"Yes! Guess keeping the wedding small kept the news from being broadcast wide dispersion. I'm impressed at Delia's ability to stifle herself. Especially with such juicy gossip."

"Did Abigail ask what you were doing at the courthouse?"

I shake my head. "No, I didn't give her a chance. I asked her first. She was there to go over her testimony in the Fetwell case. Glad we're clear of that cra . . . ."

"Mare," Marshall warns.

I cough and laugh. "Glad we're clear of that mess."

He was right. Norah was listening. "Mess, mess, mess," she parrots.

We're almost through lunch when I get a stomach cramp. This can't be a contraction. It's two weeks till my due date. Must be those backstore hicks things Marshall's always talking about - the practice contractions. "Mare?" He's noticed my wince and grimace. When I whimper trying not to react he flags down the waitress, gets the check and herds our little group out the door.

"Tell me when you have another one. It's been seven minutes between that first one and now."

I bite my lip and nod. When I can relax enough to breathe I say, "Maybe it was the chocolate chili shake?"

"We'll see," he replies. "I'm taking you home unless your water breaks. If that happens we're going straight to the hospital."

"Okay." I'm in no shape to fight. Scared or not I'm ready to evict this moocher.

Once we're home he gets the kids situated and calls Joanna and Jinx – not to come over, just to be on alert. As much as I want to see this baby I don't want to have it now. Don't I get a few days off for good behavior? I'm sitting on the couch waiting for another contraction that's not really a contraction. My back feels fine. It's a little tight, but it's been that way for months.

He kneels in front of me, his warm hands on my knees looking right into my eyes. "How's it going Mare?"

"Fine," I assure him. "That was just gas, really Marshall there's no need for you to stay home."

"My wife is having our baby. That's enough reason," he grumps. Why in the hell is he grumpy? I'm the one with the sore back, gas and bloating.

"Yeah but I'm not having it today. Go back to work. I'm sure there's Chief stuff you need to do."

"I'm not leaving Mare and you are going to bed. You hardly slept last night."

"I don't need to be in bed, Doofus." I shake his hand off my arm, but he won't let go. I double over – as close as I can get these days - and groan. Marshall immediately snaps alert, and checks the time.

"That's 20 minutes from the last one."

I straighten and start laughing. "Gotcha!" It's his own damn fault for making me watch all those labor and delivery videos. I know how to fake a contraction.

"Mare, that's not nice. This is no joking matter."

Smirking I tease, "Lighten up Doofus. You should have seen yourself. Your face turned red and you're still sweating. You stood up and whirled so fast I thought you were going to swap ends." I sigh and sit back.

He folds his arms over his chest. "I suppose I should be happy you still find me entertaining."

"Isn't that my line? I'd love to be entertaining but I feel like beached whale."

He leans down and takes my face in both hands. "You are the most beautiful woman in the world to me. Never forget that. To see you bursting with life, so . . . ."

"So round, so firm, so fully packed." He kisses me deeply to shut me up. That works.

Marshall refuses to go back to work but relents and walks the kids to the park. Bean isn't moving much. I guess he's out of room. When I try to stand to get a drink of water it takes extra effort. The doctor said the baby had dropped, getting into position to be born. I waddle to the kitchen and reach for a glass when a big one hits. This is no baxton hiccup. I feel water running down my thighs. I'm peeing? No, not pee. My water broke and Marshall isn't here and my phone is . . . .? Where the hell is my phone?

I'm holding onto the sink carefully setting the glass down. Broken glass and a wet floor and contractions would be the accidental trifecta. Marshall. I've got to call Marshall. Where is my mother humpin phone? I don't want to have this baby now. Not without Marshall!

I shuffle out of the kitchen leaving wet footprints on the carpet. There's the phone. Why in the hell don't they put pockets in maternity muumuus? I hit the speed dial and am relieved when Marshall answers immediately. "Mare?"

"My water broke." No sense beating around the bush. This is what he's been waiting for. Damn it all. This means he gets to sing the song. But I didn't start labor at lunch like he said, did I? Maybe it doesn't count after all.

"Hang on. I'll be there in ten. Just relax when you can. Sit down, or lie down, or walk," he babbles. I breathe in and out trying to release the tension in my shoulders and neck.

"Get off the phone and get your scrawny ass over here," I bellow as another contraction hits. What is he going to do with the kids? We'd talked about how much of the 'miracle of birth' to expose them to. I don't want to scare them when I'm having contractions. Marty is especially sensitive. After losing his mom every time I sneeze he thinks I'll leave him too.

The front door closes and the kids tumble in. They know something's up. What did Marshall tell them? Oh noo. That goddamn giant hand is gripping my belly. It stops and Marshall is practically carrying me to his truck. He gets me belted in when I finally think to ask, "The kids?"

"Joanna's here," he makes sure there are no body parts in the door and closes it. When did Joanna arrive? Why didn't I see her? All my attention is sucked back to having this baby.

The next time I surface and can take a breath I'm in a hospital room, with ice chips and crappy afternoon TV. Where's Marshall? My savior in scrubs comes in the room just as I find the remote. Scrubs already? Am I that close to delivering?

"Mare!" he cries. "Sorry, I had to leave and complete the admission forms." His eyes are wild but if his smile was any bigger he'd be taken for a gator. "The doc says the baby is head down and moving through the birth canal."

Canal hell. That's my hoohaw he's stretching out of shape. He? We never did find out the baby's sex. It wasn't a conscious decision on my part. I just kept forgetting to ask, and it wasn't obvious on the last sonogram. Boy or girl, brother or sister, I know we'll love him, her, whatever. Oh my god. I squeeze Marshall's hand till his knuckles turn white.

"That's it sweetheart. A couple more contractions like that and you can push and we'll be meeting our baby. You're dilated to almost 9 centimeters. It won't be long now." How can he talk at a time like this. If he's trying to distract me it's not working.

By the time we got to the hospital I was too far along for the pain meds. Natural childbirth my ass. This is torture, plain and simple. Marshall must have pressed the call button because there's a cheery teenager in nurse's scrubs at the foot of my bed.

"Let's see how you're doing." She lifts the sheet just as another contraction hits. I yell but it doesn't discourage her. She's heard worse.

"Ten centimeters, and the baby is crowning. I can see dark hair," she announces proudly. You'd think she just won a marathon instead of commenting on my performance. "I'll get the doctor." You do that girly. I want this baby out of here.

Marshall is murmuring encouragements I'm in no mood to hear. "Damn you Marshal Marshall Mann. I wish I'd never met you. I swear to God I'm going to cut off your balls so this never happens again!" Ignoring my threats he hugs me.

"You've been going through transition Mare. It will be over soon. You know it's worth it. Think of Norah. Believe me, if I could do this for you I would."

That's the thing, he would too. I know Marshall. I know what he's done for me personally and professionally. He's looked out for me, put up with me for years. I guess I can do this for him, for us.

"Don't cry Sunshine." He's in front of me wiping my face.

I'm crying? The tissue is soaked. I see his face, so full of love, caring, tenderness. Maybe it is worth it. "I love you Marshall." Now that my diaphragm has more space I can take a deep breath. "You and Norah and Marty," I amend. "Even this trouble maker." I look down at my belly.

Suddenly I feel unmoored. The bed is moving and although all I can see are ceiling tiles, I can hear Marshall's anxious whispers, and feel his hand in mine. Then it's too bright lights and shouts to push, really push. Marshall is my own personal back rest sitting behind me, his long legs bracketing mine. We both see Mikah when the doc lifts him up. Marshall scrambles off the bed and cuts his cord. It's a boy!

What feels like days later I'm out of recovery holding a blue capped bundle to my chest. I've never felt like this. When Norah was born I was so worried about her health, her adoption, my job. This time I'm ready to explode with happiness. Is that possible? Where are Marty and Norah? Where's Marshall? The door opens and Marshall is shepherding our young'uns into the room. How do we do this? How do we introduce them to the crying smelly critter who's going to sop up all their parents time and energy?

Marshall saves the day. He knows I'm overwhelmed. He coaxes Marty close to the bed and lifts Norah up. "Marty, Norah, this is your baby brother, Mikah Seth Mann."

"But Grandpa's name is Seth," Marty objects.

"We know," I interrupt. "but baby Mikah has a different first name."

"You can call him Mikey," Marshall explains.

My Norah bean is upset. "There will be **three** **boys** living at our house." She's frowning and wriggles till Marshall puts her down. She walks away from the bed, stares at the wall then turns glaring at me, at us. She puts her hands on her hips, drops her head and sighs. "Okay. I guess we can keep him. Mommy and I can beat all of you anytime." She pins me with her glare. "Right mommy?"

That's my Bug. She's got it all figured out, and as usual, she's right.

THE END

A/N: I know they are actually called Braxton Hicks contractions but I can't imagine Mary not mangling the term. There really is an Owl Café in Albuquerque and per the internet it serves chocolate red chili shakes. The epilogue was supposed to be Mary meeting Abigail on the steps of the courthouse not the whole labor and delivery but the muse had other plans. Thanks for following this story. Thanks to Meg for cheerleading. Special thanks to Jojo78, my proof reader, my sounding board and advisor when the muse failed. I'm not done with M&M. Look for another story soon.


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